Gift  of 
Mrs,  Prank  Good 


C^x 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

Circlerille  Watchman. 

"  THE  sentiment  that  runs  through  the  whole  work,  is  elevating  and 
instructive.  There  is  a  sweet  spirit  and  depth  of  imagination  in  every 
sentence,  that  at  once,  places  the  authoress  in  the  front  rank  of  the  first 
poets  of  the  age." 


Ohio    Statesman. 

"  For  the  first  time,  we  have  seen  this  unpretending  collection  of 
poems,  the  production  of  one  of  Ohio's  own  daughters'.  They  are  chaste 
ind  natural  in  style.  Many  of  the  pieces  abound  in  patriotic,  and  some 
:n  humorous  sentiment." 


Kentucky  flag. 

"  It  is  certainly  a  work  of  high  merit,  and  one  which  should  be  liber- 
illy  patronized  by  all." 


Democratic    Vnion. 

"The  gifted  authoress  is  endowed  with  a  clear  perception  of  the  real 
ind  the  true.  Many  passages  of  the  work  evince  a  substantial  apprecia 
tion  of  the  '  poets'  art  ;'  and  bear  the  unmistakable  impress  of  a  vigorous 
ntellect." 

£ 

Cincinnati  .Enquirer. 

"  That  the  book  possesses  high  poetic  merit  we  must  allow, — this,  by 
he  way,  is  the  concession  of  our  judgment — not  the  mere  mouth-praise 
>f  gallantry  for  the  sex.  Her  style  is  simple,  pure  and  sweet,  tinged 
vith  a  melancholy  spirit,  which  is  often  rather  a  charm  to  poetry  than 
i  defect." 


5 


OPINIONS     OK     T  H  K     1'  K  E  S  S  . 

'Mn-  Cincinnati  Times. 

"We  may  add,  that  a  mere  hurried  glimpse  of  two  or  three  of  its  taste 
fully  printed  pages,  has  impressed  us  favorably  with  the  character  and 
powers  of  the  fair  and  fanciful  authoress." 


The  Cincinnati  Atlas. 

"  The  poems  are  smoothly  and  pleasantly  written,  and  display  consi 
derable  skill." 


Cincinnati  Commercial. 

"  A  softness,  an  ease,  and  a  sweet  simplicity  pervades  them,  that  will 
reach  the  unsullied  heart  and  impart  pleasure  to  the  reader. 

"  '  The  Indian's  Bride,'  •  The  Return,'  '  The  Parting,'  '  The  Contrast,' 
« A  Legend  of  the  South,'  and  other  pieces  denote  a  genuine  appreciation 
of  what  belongs  to  the  art  divine." 


The  Western  Texian. 

"  Mrs.  Truesdell  has  recently  published  a  book  of  Poems,  the  chaste- 
ness  of  style,  the  purity  of  composition,  and  elevated  sentiment  of  which 
challenge  our  admiration,  and  establish  the  fame  of  the  fair  authoress." 

San  Antonio  Ledger. 

"  There  is  beauty  and  purity  written  upon  every  page,  elevating  and 
instructive  to  the  mind  of  those  who  delight  to  drink  from  the  pure 
streams  of  poetic  fancy  and  sentiment." 


POEM  S. 


...     •* 


BY 


MRS.  HELEN  TBUESDELL. 

' 


THIRD  EDITION, 


CINCINNATI: 
PUBLISHED    BY    E.  MORGAN"    &    00., 

NO.    Ill    MAIN    STREET. 

1854. 


CONTENTS. 


PiQB. 

Jt   LEGEND  OF  THE  SOUTH,        .           .           .           .           .  .13 

SCOTLAND,     , .                     .           .           .           -           .           .  24 

LAMENT  FOR  THE  LATE  NATHANIEL  M'LADf,           "Jv           .  .      28 

THE  INDIAN'S  BRIDE,           .  jj       .            .       j   .  -        •           .  32 

THE  CAPTIVE  QUEEN,       .   "    J^j               **  *    "                   .  .37 

APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  MISSISSIPPI,    .            .  •         .       :    .  *        .  41 

REPLY  TO  BYRONA,        .            .            .                       »  '         .  .45 

ODE  TO  FRIENDSHIP,             .**••••           .            .           .  48 

THE  RETURN,        .        .            .    *       .       .    t           .            .  .49 

A  TALE  "WITHOUT  A  NAME,            .....  52 

THE  Vow,    '     -            •            •            .       "*'^T.:       .            .  .56 

THE  RUSTIC  MAIDEN  TO  HER  LOVER,       %           ...  58 

STANZAS  SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  SAMUEL  MILLIKAN,       .  .      62 

THE  SICK  CHILD'S  LAMENT,          .       "    •            ,            .            .  64 

A  MIDNIGHT  SONG,                   .    _   '    ,t  •*                   ,            .  .69 

LlNES  "WRITTEN  FOR  AN  ALBUM,      .....  71 

FARITWELL,        .            .             .       :    »       '    «            .           .  .73 

THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  WAR,      .          ,  '    "  •  f  .,                   .  76 

THE  MISERIES  OF  WAR,           »        .    .  •'                   .            .  .78 

A  PRAYER  FOR  MY  SISTER,             .....  80 


CONTENTS. 

•    *        .     A 


THE  PARTING,        ........ 

THE  CONSUMPTIVE,  .  .  .  ,  .  .* 

JOSEPHINE'S  REMONSTRANCE,      ...... 

THOU   CANST   NOT   FORGET    ME,  .  if"  . 

ELEGIAC  LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  J.  J.  STEWART,    .  .  . 

To  A  NEGLECTED  ARTIST,  ..... 

I  WAS  NOT  ALWAYS  SORROWFUL,  .  i  •         I  .  . 

LlNES  ADDRESSED  TO  MY  SlSTER  AT  SCHOOL,     ^,. 

MUSINGS,          ..'":.  .  .  .  . 

THE  GIFT,        .        .  .  ,;  . 

SONG  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID,          |W  "~       .  . 

THE  CONTRAST,        .  f .        .  .  .  . 

LINES  TO  A  BIRD,      *  .  ">  .  .  .  . 

THE  SKEPTIC'S  LAST  NIGHT,  .        •    .  .  .  . 

GEORGIANA,        .  ,lr.          1^.  , 

•'  «. 

IDA,  .  .  J       .  .  .        ^.4    ;^      123 

THE  IRISH  EXILE'S  ADDRESS  TO  AMERICA,      .*         .  .  .    125 

THE  YOUNG  WIFE'S  SONG,  ^  .    .   9   ,  J     .-./ .         .          128 

PRESENTIMENTS,          ••..•"•'       •  •  •  •          jt,-         .130 

ANNIE  ADAIR,          .  *  .  .  .  ^         131 

LlNES  ON  BEING  SHOWN  A  TRESS  OF  HAIR,    .  .  .  .133 

LlNES  ACCOMPANYING  A  BOUQUET  OF  LlLIES  AND  ROSES,  .          136 

THE  CAPTIVE  WARRIOR'S  LAMENT,       .....     138 
THE  NEGLECTED  WIFE,       .        r .  -          .  .  „       .          140 

THE  MISSIONARIES,        .  •        8  '*»  •  *j    '  '     ^^ 

I  WILL    HOPE,  .  .  .  .  .  **    .      "^    4      '         ^^ 

I    SHALL   THINK    OF  THEE,  *    !f  .  .  .  .,    J  .152 

....  f   .. .   j*    _;  ,»>a>B  rn:t  • 

WELCOME  TO  KOSSUTH,        .  .  .  .  .  .154 

.,  .       .  :  «H'»-Y;?,  .7^ 

BIRD  OF  THE  SUMMER,  .  .  .  .  .  .157 

4  .  *  *  ''       •  '  t  -I. '  . 

STANZAS  TO .  «,«        .         '•  •  ,r,      159 

.      .  ..  P.  * 

AN  AFP:   p  TO  QUEEN  VICTORIA  IN  BEHALF  OF  THE  IRISH,  .    162 

LlNES   ADDRESSED  TO   A    STRANGER    WHOM   I    MET   ON   THE    CARS,        .  1G5 


CONTENTS.  XI 

•  4  •  - 

PAGE. 

To  A  COQUETTE,    .            .  *                     .            .            «             .  168 

LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MBS.  E.  BBOWN,     ....  170 

Ax  INVOCATION,        .            .          _ .            .            .            .            .  172 

AWAKE,  AWAKE,  MY  GENTLE  MUSE,      .  .  .  .  .174 

WITHERED  VIOLETS,              . .           .             ...             .            .  175 

RELIGION,           .........  178 

HALLOWED  GROUND,  •                      .            .    '          .            .             .  180 

A  WISH,             .            .  \      '  .••          ,            .            .            ...  182 

STANZAS,       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ..',183 

To  MY  LITTLE  NIECE,               .             .            .             .'•,-•.  186 

APOSTROPHE  TO  MY  HUSBAND-,          .             .            .            .            .  188 

LOVE,     .                                                        •.:'".*       ...  .        ^            .  190 

To  A  FRIKND,           .             .            „           .          ••.'.•-  '*>        .  192 

LITTLE  WILLIE,              .            ^v.      it.,"         ....  194 

COUNTRY  LIFE,        .          ,-,.    •     "•'..  .     :    ,'\     *      .            .            .  196 
I  LOVED  HIM,    .             .             .        'i-\  '[       >   ';         .            .             .198 

THE  LONKLY  GRAVE,          .&•       .            .            .'          .            .  200 

LlNES  ON  RECEIVING  A  NUMBER  OF  THE  REPOSITORY,              .            .  202 

AUTUMN  FLOWERS,      .           ,             .         ^«          '  *            •            •  ^^ 

REMORSE,           .            .'*'.•'       .            i            .            .            .  205 

HOSE,                       .             .......  207 

EDITH  TO  MOUTON,         .        T  ".    '        .          ,  »~-\_        .            .             .  209 

I'M    WITH    You,    DKAR    SlSTEHS,  .  .  .  .  .211 


POEMS 


A  LEGEND   OF  THE  SOUTH. 

PART  FIRST. 

'TWAS  eve,  sweet  eve:   a  southern  sky 
Had  flung  its  thousand  lights  on  high, 
And  many  a  fair  and  lovely  scene 
Silvered  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam; 
While,  stretching  southward  far  away, 
Lake  Pontchartrain  in  beauty  lay, 
'Mid  scenes  so  fair,  when  on  her  strand 
You  'd  almost  de^em  it  fairy  land ; 
And  just  beside,  a  noble  wood, 
Draped  in  the  moonlight,  proudly  stood, 
Where  Pan,  the  god  of  sylvan  shades, 
Held  revels  'mid  these  woodland  glades. 
The  broad  magnolia's  leaves  unfold 
Beside  the  aster's  flowers  of  gold; 
2  13 


- 


I* 

14:  A     LEGEND     OF    THE     SOUTH. 

• 


OF 


The  columbine  and  lupine  wreathed 
Garlands,  which  fragrance  only  breathed; 
And  birds  of  every  hue  and  wing, 
Gayly  amid  the  flowerets  sing. 
No  dreary  winter  visits  here, 
But  spring,  sweet  spring-time,  all  the  year. 
And  now  my  strain  is  sung  to  thee, 
I'll  tell  a  tale  as  told  to  me : — 

'Tis  said,  amid  those  lovely  wilds 

A  lonely  hermit  dwells, 

* 
Apart  from  man,  and  shunning  all, 

To  none  his  tale  he  tells. 

^  •. 
'Tis   told  by  those  who  near  him  live, 

That  many  years  before, 
,He  came  from  Italy's  fair  clime, 

And  sought  our  Western  shore. 

Cleft  in   the  hollow  of  a  rock, 

Mis  lonely  home  is  made; 
The  wild  vines  wreathe  their  tendrils  round, 

And  form  a  vernal  shade. 


1S*T  •      •  *• 

A     LEGEND     OF    THE     SOUTH.  35 

•  '  k     .  '  •    4 

At  early  morn  he  seeks  for  game, 

For  well  he  loves  the  chase, 
The  red  deer  trembles  when  he  sees 

The  time-worn  hermit's  face. 

And  oft  he  climbs  the  loftiest  steeps, 

\Vhere   soaring  eagles  feed, 
To  gaze  upon  a  stormy  sky, 

As  if  he  sought  to  read 

The  destiny  of  one  so  strange, 

Self-exiled  from  his  home — 
An  alien  from  his  own  sweet  land, 

Amid  our  shades  to  roam. 

A  poet  and  an  artist,  he 

Dwelt  'neath  his  native  sky ; 
Amid  those*  glorious  works  of  art 

Too  beautiful  to  die. 


Fame  and  ambition  made  for  him 
A  halo  round  his  brow ; 

Alas,  for  all  those  lovely  dreams ! 
Where  have  they  flown  to,  now  ? 


16  A    LEGEND     OF    THK     SOUTH. 

He  loved — it  is  a  simple  tale, 
And  one  that 's  often  told  ; 

For  she  he  l«vcd  was  beautiful, 
And  rich  in  lands  and  gold. 

'      * 

The  daughter  of  a  lordly  house, 

A  Baron's  only  pride — 
For  whose  fair  hand  the  proudest  peers 

Of  many  a  realm  had  sighed. 

jQ  £-t,/t>f£sr^Jtr~t**^^*~' 

'Twas  in  his  studio  first  they  met: 

Her  friends  had  brought  her  there, 
To  see  if  art  could  picture  forth 
A  sculptured  form  so  fair.      &j 

With  trembling  hand  and  heart  of  fire, 
He  sought  her  form  to  trace ; 

But  ah,  despair  was  on  his  brow, 
For  who  could  give  that  face  ? — 

The  heavenly  beauty  of  the  mind, 

..... 

The  spirit's  sparkling  light, 
The  eye  whose  gentle  radiance  shone, 
Soft  as  the  stars  of  night. 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    SOUTH.  17 

Enshrined  within  his  heart  of  hearts 

Each  look  of  hers  now  lay — 
A  breath  of  summer  o'er  his  soul, 

Too  soon  to  pass  away.     &r~6^.  &J  *• 


PART   SECOND. 


'Tis  night,  a  night  in  Italy: 
How  to  the  mind  it  brings 

O 

Bright  visions  of  that  lovely  land's 
All  high  and  glorious  things ! 

'Neath  a  myrtle  and  an  orange  grove, 
On  a  bed  of  violets  sweet, 

Sat  this  gentle  high-born  maiden, 
With  the  artist  at  her  feet. 


The  sunlight  from  the  mountains 

Had  faded  quite  away, 
And  the  misty  shades  of  evening 

"Were  gathering  thick  and  gray, 


A     LEGEND     OF     THE     SOUTH. 

When  from  her  father's  castle 
That  maiden  fair  was  seen 

To  glide,  with  noiseless  footsteps, 
Along  the  shadowy  green. 

Is  this  the  Baron's  daughter, 

The  peerless  Isabel, 
Who  wanders  in  the  moonlight 

Alone  by  lake  and  fell? 

Her  lover's  watching  for  her,    X-c 

He's  waited  for  her  long, 
With  a  heart  of  burniDg  eloquence, 

And  lips  and  tone  of  song. 

And  oh  !  what  wondrous  tenderness 

Is  falling  from  his  tongue, 
And  with  what  fond  and  earnest  faith 

Unto  his  words  she  clung. 


"Love  me  ever,"  said  the  maiden, 

And  her  voice  was  soft  and  low, 

' 

Like  the  sighing  of  the  south  winds 
Amid  the  myrtle's  bough. 


A     LEGEND     OF     THE     SOUTH.  19 


PART  THIRD. 

*      ' 

Grim  and  silent,  in  the  moonlight, 

An  ancient  chapel  stood, 
Where  dwelt  a  priestly  anchorite — 

The  humble  and  the  good. 

With  swift  and  quiet  footsteps 

The  lovers  bent  their  way, 
Ah  !  toward  this  ruined  chapel, 

Guided  by  the  moon's  soft  ray. 

They  have  passed  the  lonely  threshold. 

The  holy  man  is  there, 
Before  him  is  a  crucifix, 

Beside,  a  book  of  prayer. 

-¥  • 

There  's  a  deadly  pallor  resting 

Upon  the  maiden's  brow, 
As  they  kneel  with  pious  fervor, 
To  take  the  solemn  vow 


20  A     LEGEND     OF     THE     SOUTH. 

That  binds  them  to  each  other. 

The  words  were  scarcely  said, 
When  through  the  vaulted  chapel 

Rang  a  voice  as  from  the  dead— 

"  Forbear,  forbear,  my  children !  'i 
All  turned  in  wild  alarm, 

And,  lo!  beside  the  doorway 
Stood  a  proud  and  noble  form. 

The  face  was  deeply  shaded, 
But  amid  the  gathering  gloom, 

The  maiden  knew  her  father, 
By  the  waving  of  his  plume. 

"Forbear!"  again  he  uttered, 
And  his  voice  was  stern  and  deep, 

"  Let  thy  words  be  all  unspoken, 
That  vow  thou  must  not  keep. 

"  Ye  are  both,  O  God !    my  children, 
The  same  by  birth  and  name — 

Thine,  thine  will  be  the  anguish, 
But  mine  has  been  the  shame." 


A     LEGEND     OP     THE     SOUTH.  21 

4*  4 


Then  he  told  how  he  had  wandered 

To  a  distant  land  away, 
To  a  fair  and  smiling  valley, 

Called  the  Valley  of  Glenstray; 

Where  he  wooed  an  humble  maiden, 
And  won  her  for  his  bride; 

Fearing  his  father's  anger, 
But  more  his  mother's  pride, 

He  had  wedded  her  in  secret; 

They  had  never  told  the  tale, 
Though  his  gentle  bride  grew  sorrowful 

While  her  brow  grew  sad  and  pale. 

The  beautiful  and  timid  girl 

S 
Drooped  daily  by  his  side, 

Yet  still  he  would  not  claim  her 
As  his  own,  his  wedded  bride. 

But  the  Friend  unto  the  wretched 

Came  swiftly  to  her  aid, 
And  soon  all  quietly  she  slept 

Within  the  church-yard's  shade. 


A    LEGEND     OF     THE     SOUTH. 

But  ere  she  died,  she'd  given 
Unto  his  arms  a  son —    «f5*'" 

"Thou,  thou,"  exclaimed  the  father,    . 
"Art  that  wronged,  forsaken  one!" 


Pale,  pale  as  death,  the  maiden 

Sank  fainting  to  the  floor, 
While  with  wild  and  speechless  agony 

Her  brother  bent  him -o'er. 
»  '    ^r  •  •> 

That  face  of  matchless  beauty, 

That  fair  and  fragile  form. 
Lay  like  a  blighted  lily 

Smitten  by  a  sudden  storm. 


Oh.  who  can  tell  the  agony     ''r)0|Hfl  fl 

That  filled  that  brother's  breast, 

ji." 

As  on  his  sister's  snowy  brow 

One  holy  kiss  he  prest ! 

Then  turned  away  all  sorrowful, 

All  sorrowful  and  lone, 
Bound  to  a  far-off  distant  land, 

Forever  from  his  own. 


A     LEGEND     OF     THE     SOUTH.  23 

And  soon  within  a  noble  ship, 
Upon  a  bounding  sea, 


The  beautiful,  the  free! 


He  came  unto  our  own  fair  land, 


And  here  upon  our  Southern  shore, 

Where  breezes  softly  play, 
'Mid  orange  bowers  almost  as  fair 

As  those  of  Italy, 

Cleft  in  the  hollow  of  a  rock, 

His  lonely  home  is  made ; 
The  wild  vines  wreathe  their  tendrils  round, 

And  form  a  vernal  shade. 


SCOTLAND. 


LAND  of  the  mountain  and  the  dale  1 
Thou  land  of  deathless  fame ! 

I  proudly  write  on  this  fair  page 
Thy  ever-during  name. 

I  fling  my  banner  to  the  breeze, 

I  loudly  call  on  thee 
To  aid  me  by  my  power  of  song, 

Bright  land  of  minstrelsy ! 

\        *'          * 

Ye  sons  of  genius,  who  would  seek 

A  shrine  whereon  to  lay 
The  purest  offering  of  your  heart, 

'Tis  Scotland  points  the  way. 


SCOTLAND.  25 

Not  to  the  wealthy  or  the  great, 

Doth  intellect  belong, — 
The  poet  in  his  low  thatched  cot 

Can  pour  his  soul  in  song. 

And  while  I  for  a  model  seek, 

Mine  eye  instinctive  turns, 
And  fondly  wreathed  around  my  heart, 

I  find  the  name  of  BURNS. 

Who  does  not  love  the  author  well, 

Of  that  enchanting  tune, 
Which  sweetly  steals  across  the  heart — 

The  "Braes  o'  Bonnie  Boon?" 

I  loved  it  in  my  happier  hours; 

I  love  it  better  now; 
Since  I,  like  that  lone  one,  have  learned 

To  mourn  a  broken  vow.-*  ;|g 

And  should  my  fancy  seek  to  rove 

'Mid  scenes  of  beauty  wild, 
I'd  turn  to  thee,  thou  gifted  Scot! 

Fair  Scotia's  darling  child  1 


26  SCOTLAND. 

Should  warriors,  too,  engross  my  pen, 
And  claim  from  me  their  due, 

I'd  twine  a  wreath  for  gallant  BBUCE, 
And  one  for  "WALLACE  too. 

_     ------  -il 

Sure,  bolder  chieftains  never  trod, 
E'en  on  our  own  loved  shore, 

Than  they,  with  belt  and  tartan  plaid, 
Their  Highland  heather  o'er. 

Statesmen!  the  mighty  MANSFIELD  stands 


A  pattern  for  you  all;     'Xt.;-  -,  .  Vis/  s 
A  nobler  voice  was  never  heard 
In  council  or  in  hall. 

Divines!  you  too  may  emulate 

The  Covenanter's  zeal; 
"Who  seeks,  by  penitence  and  tears, 

His  every  sin  to  heal. 

. 
Behold  in  burrows  of  the  earth, 

"With  fasting  and  with  care, 
The  persecuted  Christian  kneels,  £&*-*> 


And  lifts  his  soul  in  prayer. 


-*> 


SCOTLAND.  27 


In  this  religion  has  he  lived, — 

His  purposes  are  high, — 
And  like  his  gentle,  captive  Queen, 
For  it  h  'ed  even  die. 


LAMENT 

FOR  THE  LATE  NATHANIEL  M'LAIN. 

INSCRIBED  TO  HIS  SISTEE,  MRS.  MILTON  M.  HALE. 


"  That  soldier  had  stood  on  the  battle-plain, 

Where  every  step  was  over  the  slain  ; 
But  the  brand  and  the  ball  had  passed  him  by, 

And  he  came  to  his  native  land — to  die." — L.  E.  L. 


MY  brother !  O  my  brother  1 
My  soul  is  sad  to-night: 

I'm  thinking  of  the  fatal  news— 
The  dark  and  withering  blight — 

That   fell  upon  my  spirit, 

When  on  lightning  wings  it  sped, 

And  told  me  thou,  beloved  one, 

"Wert  sleeping  with  the  dead. 

t          » 

When  rang  the  deadly  clarion 

Beneath  a  southern  sky, 
rhou,  thou  wert  there,  my  brother, 

To  dare,  to  do,  or  die; 


LAMENT    FOR     NATHANIEL    M'LAIN.  29 


Yea,  ever  'mid  the  thickest  fight — 

The  bravest  of  the  brave — 
Willing  to  share  a  soldier's  fate, 

Or  fill  a  soldier's  grave. 

But  thou  wert  spared  amid  it  all, 

To  see  thy  home  once  more; 
Yea,  borne  on  Neptune's  friendly  waves. 

Didst  reach  thy  native  shore : 
And  loving  friends,  and  tender  ones, 

Came  forth  thy  steps  to  greet, — 
Oh,  it  was  joy,  the  dearest  joy, 

Those  early  friends  to  meet! 

Our  gray-haired  sire  beside  thee  stood, 

While  pride  thrilled  through  his  breast, 
Murmured  thy  name  in  tender  tones  — 

And,  brother,  thou  wert  blest: 
Our  mother,  too,  oh !  who  can  tell 

The  deep  unselfish  love 
That  thrilled  each  fiber  of  her  soul, 

As  angels  thrill  above! 


30  LAMENT    FOR     NATHANIEL    M5LAIN. 

t 

But  not  for  me,  oh !  not  for  me, 

To  look  upon  thy  face, — 
Only  the  mournful  task  is  mine, 

This  record  sad  to  trace: 
For  now,  O  brother  of  my  soul ! 

From  earth  thou'st  passed  away, 
And  that  warm,  generous  heart  of  thine. 

Lies  'neath  the  cold,  cold  clay. 

In  sable  garb,  with  saddened  step, 

And  sadly-waving  plume, 
They  laid  thee  with  thy  young  renown, 

Low  in  the  silent  tomb  ; 
With  laurels  fresh  upon  thy  brow, 

They  laid  thee  down  to  rest 
Within  thine  own  dear  native  land — 

Fair  Yalley  of  the  West ! 

;-''    •    , 

Our  father's  joy  is  turned  to  grief; 

Our  mother's  hopes  have  fled ; 
The  visions  that  we  cherished,  all 

Like  withered  leaves  lie  dead  : 


LAMENT    FOR    NATHANIEL    M5LA1N.  31 

And  she,  the  chosen  of  thy  heart, 

The  tender  and  the  true, 
Has  gazed  her  last  upon  thy  face, 

And  wept  her  last  adieu. 

Yet  vain  our  sorrows,  vain  our  tears ; 

Though  never  vain  the  spell 
That  lingers  round  a  sister's  heart, 

When  she  has  said  farewell 
To  one,  who  e'en  from  childhood's  hour 

Has  grown  up  by  her  side, 
From  all  its  witching  tenderness, 

To  manhood's  joyous  pride. 

Then  bid  me  not  to  dry  my  tears. 

Nor  bid  me  cease  to  mourn, — 
The  deep,  deep  love  that  stirs  my  soul, 

With  life's  first  breath  was  born. 
Brother!  the  memory  of  thy  worth 

Shall  live  within  my  breast, 
And  point  me  to  that  sacred  home, 

Where  thou  hast  found  a  rest. 


[I  remember,  when  a  child,  reading  an  account  of  an  Indian  Chief, 
who  went  from  America  to  England,  and  married  the  fair  daughter 
of  an  English  house.  She  is  represented  as  approaching  the  altar 
with  the  greatest  enthusiasm.] 


THE  INDIAN'S  BRIDE. 

"  Holy  and  pure  are  the  drops  that  fall, 
When  the  young  bride  goes  from  her  father's  hall : 
She  goes  unto  love  yet  untried  and  new — 
She  parts  from  love  which  hath  still  been  true." 

MBS.  HKMANS. 

"  OH  !  bind  the  bridal  veil,"  she  said, 

"  Sweet  sister,  on  my  brow, 
And  let  me  to  the  altar  go, 

To  take  the  sweetest  vow 

"  That  ever  passed  from  woman's  lips, 
Or  thrilled  through  woman's  breast; — ' 

Without  it,  love  is  but  a  dream, 
And  life  is  all  unblest." 


THE    INDIAN'S    BRIDE.  33 

i 
Gently  the  bridal  veil  was  bound 

Amid  those  tresses  i'air, 
Which  hung,  like  rays  of  golden  light, 
So  beautiful  they  were, 

Around  the  maiden's  sylph-like  form, — 

So  full  of  perfect  grace, 
You  'd  rarely  see  so  fair  a  form, 

With  such  a  lovely  face. 

The  high,  fair  brow,  the  loving  lips, 

The  sad,  yet  tender  eyes, 
Whose  color  only  could  be  matched 

By  heaven's  own  azure  dyes. 

And  then  the  small  fair  hands  were  clasped ; 

The  maiden  knelt  in  prayer; 
And  her  sweet  voice  went  floating  out 

Like  music  on  the  air. 

But  strange  the  contrast! — he  who  stood 

To  claim  her  for  his  bride, 
A  dark-browed  Indian  Chief  was  he, 

The  forest's  fear  and  pride. 
3 


34  THE     INDIAN  'SKRIDE. 

What  wild  emotion  moved  his  heart? 

Say,  should  we  call  it  love,     04** 
That  brought  the  eagle  from  on  nigh 

To  mate  him  with  the  dove  ?     tj/ 

Was  there  no  maiden  of  his  tribe,  - 
No  dark-eyed,  dusky  one,   fisi^O 

Who  dwelt  within  his  native  wilds 
On  toward  the  setting  sun, 


Could  bear  his  burden  by  his  side  ?  —  • 
With  him  the  hills  could  roam  ?  — 

And  dress  for  him  the  mountain  deer, 
And  tend  his  forest  home? 


But  must  he  woo  this  lovely  flower  ^M.^ 

From  Albion's  distant  shore, 
To  wither  'neath  a  foreign  sky, 

And  pine  in  sorrow  sore  ? 


What  will  she,  with  her  costly  gems,  v.J-^' 
That  she  has  worn  with  pride? 

The  feather  and  the  shell  were  best 
To  deck  the  Red  Man's  bride. 


THE  INDIAN'S    BKIDE.  35 

What  will  she,  for  her  happy  home, 
Where  peace  and  plenty  smile  2 ,  -jjvJ 

Oh,  cruel  was  the  heart,  methinks, 
That  could  her  steps  beguile! 

And  when  the  wild  romance  is  past — 

The  foolish  dream  is  o'er — 
Will  she  not  think  upon  the  home 

Which  she  shall  see  no  more?     (f  ^..^  &_^r»^. 

Will  not  her  mother's  voice,  at  eve, 

Steal  'mid  those  woods  so  dim, 
Borne  on  the  fragrance  of  the  breeze, 

Soft  as  a  vesper  hymn  ?    jg  !'Q..-$L 

Her  sister's,  too, — the  gentle  girl, 

Who  bound  the  flowerets  fair, 
While  tear-drops  fell,  like  glittering  pearls, 

Amid  her  golden  hair  ? 


And  her  fond  father, — he  who  strove, 

In  tones  of  choking  woe, 
To  bless  his  darling  ere  he  bade — 

Ah,  sadly  bade — her  go, 


THE     INDIAN    S     BRIDE. 


To  cheer  the  Indian's  wigwam  rude, 

Far  o'er  the  shadowy  main, 
Leaving  behind  fond  precious  hopes 

She  ne'er  can  know  again.     Q  &sr$$"  *£  ^UL 

-<~.s 


THE  CAPTIVE  QUEEN. 

"  I  was  the  Queen  o'  bonnie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been  ; 
Fu'  lightly  rose  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blithe  lay  down  at  e'en  : 
And  I  'm  the  Sovereign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there, 
Yet  here  I  lie,  in  foreign  bands, 

And  never-ending  care." — BUENS. 

""&&.  'JjL 

SHE  sat  alone — yes,  all  alone — within  that  gloomy  tower, 
For  she,  though  young  and  beautiful,  had  felt  oppres 
sion's  power ; 

She  had  each  lovely  attribute  that  ladies  ever  prize, 
The  sylph-like  form,  the  fairy  step,  the  bright  and  starry 
eyes. 

,      A^^UK^f         & 

And  ne'er  a  loftier  intellect  had  fallen'  to  woman's  lot ; 
A  fame,  that  malice  tried  in  vain  on  which  to  fix  a  blot. 
'The  sun  threw  out  its  gorgeous   rays   o'er  mount,  and 

•  *", 

vale,  and  hill. 

And  seemed  the  very  earth   and   air  with  joyousness 
to  fill. 


898717 


38  THE     CAPTIVE    QUEEN. 

.     '  r 

But  though  it  shed  its  genial  rays,  no  joy  could  it  impart, 

To  soothe  the  agony  and  care  that  weighed  the  Cap 
tive's  heart; 

She  gazed  upon  the  glorious  scene  through  bitter, 
blinding  tears, 

And  hurriedly  her  mind  went  back  to  earlier,  happier 
years. 

But  where  were  now  those  happy  hours,  the  step  and 

spirit  free? — 
The  thousand   warriors,  who  had  deemed   it  pride  to 

bend  the  knee 

To  one  so  good  and  beautiful,  the  Dauphin's  gentle  bride, 
Heir  of  fair  Scotia's  royal  crown,  and  France  a  dower 

beside  ? 

Where  were  ye,  lords  of  Scotland,  all,  and  gentlemen 

of  France  ? 
Why  came  ye  not,  with  valorous  hearts,  to  break  for 

her  a  lance  ? 
And  where  were  ye,  ye  courtly  dames,  in  proud  and 

rich  array, 

Who  dwelt  within  your  Sovereign's  court,  and   owned 
-    her  gentle  sway  ? 


THE    CAPTIVE    QUEEN.  39 

And  MURRAY,  them  of  princely  blood,  near  to  the  royal 

line, 

Hadst  thou  no  offering  to  lay  upon  thy  sister's  shrine? 
Did  no  avenging  spirit  wake  within  thy  haughty  breast? 
Or  didst  thou   coldly  fold   thine  arms,  as  faithless  as 
i;^<tfee  rest? 

* 

No  answer! — let  thy  silence  tell  thy  perjury  and  shame! 
Ambition  lured  thee,  but  thou  ne'er  didst  wear  a  wreath 

of  fame  ; — 

Ambition  lured  thee  on  to  dwell  amid  thy  sister's  foes, 
Forgetful  of  her  kindred  ties,  forgetful  pf  her  woes; 

Forgetful  of  her  tender  care,  her  too  confiding  love, 
A  sovereign's  wrongs,  a   sister's   tears,  could    not   thy 

pity  move. 

But  by  a  woman  thou  wert  made,  in  after  years,  to  feel, — 
For  't  was  her  hand  which  armed  with  death  the  dread 

assassin's  steel. 

Thou,   who   so  recklessly  upon   another's  rights  hadst 

trod, 
Saw  thine  own  name  go  down  in  death,  in  darkness, 

and  in  blood ! 
4 


•  *•> 

40  THE    CAPTIVE    QUEEN. 


But,  MAKT,  in   thy  darkest  hour  some  happiness  was 

thine ; 
For    thou   didst    lay  thy  trusting    heart    upon  a  holy 

shrine. 

:'     3B     &l*W*     'Jiti'iit     bi'it    •"rb[«r'     limit     1    f >i f \ "  ift 

For  though  thine  was  an  erring  faith,  'twas  beautiful  to 

see 

Thy  steadfast  love,  thy  earnest  zeal,  thy  tender  constancy; 
All  Europe  looked  with  pitying  eyes  upon  thy  closing 

fate, 
And  mourned  for  Scotland's  Koyal  Flower — the  lone, 

the  desolate  I 


APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

INSCRIBED  TO  MKS.  H.  TBUESDELL. 

"  To  a  kindred  spirit  these  lines  belong — 
A  daughter  of  Genius,  a  child  of  Song." 

BYROHA. 

As  on  thy  waters  now  I  gaze, 

Another  by  my  side 

>•_' .  i 

Follows,  with  sad  and  tearful  eye, 

Thy  dark  and  turbid  tide. 

A  widowed  heart  it  is  that  bends 

In  grief  beside  me  here, — 
A  heart  bereft,  in  early  youth, 

Of  all  it  held  most  dear. 


4:2  APO8TEOPHE     TO     THE     MISSISSIPPI. 

And  thou,  engulfing  waters,  thou 
Didst  rob  this  sorrowing  one — 

Didst  snatch  the  idol  from  its  shrine, 
And  leave  the  heart  alone. 

Scarce  had  the  bridal  flowers  grown  pale, 
"Which  loving  hands  had  wreathed, — 

Scarce  had  the  husband's  tender  vows 

•  '•  f(  A 
In  happiness  been  breathed, — 

Ere  from  the  altar  he  had  reared, 

That  shrine  of  love — a  home, 
The  guardian  of  that  temple  dear 

By  cruel  fate  was  torn. 

He  trusted  to  thy  treacherous  waves, 

Thou  dark,  uncertain  stream ; 
But  of  the  fearful  doom  thou  'dst  planned, 

How  little  did  he  dream! 

'Twas  sounding  still  upon  his  ear — 

Love's  fond  and  last  adieu; 
And,  as  each  wave  still  bore  him  on, 

The  absent  dearer  grew. 

-  *•* 


APOSTROPHE    TO    THE    MISSISSIPPI.  48 

He  gazed  on  thee,  and  thought,  perchance, 

Of  bliss  till  now  unknown ; 
When  thy  relentless  billows  part, 

And  claim  him  for  thine  own. 

,/.X!  ' - r'" 

The  bridal  wreath  so  fondly  worn, 

"Was  withered  in  an  hour, — 
Crushed  by  a  fearful  weight  of  woe, 

There  lay  a  tender  flower. 

The  fragrance  of  that  opening  flower, 

Was  given  to  the  morn, 
And  ere  the  evening  sun  was  low, 

Its  sweet  perfume  was  gone. 

The  mournful  cypress  now  replaced 

The  lovely  orange  wreath  ; 
And  sable  robes  were  gathered  close 

This  emblem  sad  beneath. 

An  emblem  fit  it  was  to  wear, — 

For  truthfully  it  spoke ; 
A  loving  nature  has  been  crushed — 

A  gentle  spirit  broke. 


•  •      •     -  ,••    . 
44          APOSTROPHE    TO     THE    MISSISSIPPI; 

Sorrowing  stranger!  mingling  tears 
Are  flowing  fast  with  thine: 

Would  they  could  thy  spirit  heal — 
These  heart-felt  tears  of  mine ! 

BYBONA. 


REPLY  TO  BYRONA. 


How  shall  I  thank  thee?  not  with  words; —  ' 
These  burning  tears  can  speak, — 

This  bitter  agony  of  heart, — 
This  blanching  of  the  cheek. 

For  thou  hast  touched  a  mournful  chord, 

That  vibrates  every  hour, 
"With  all  a  poet's  gentle  skill, — 

A  woman's  gentle  power.    /I^^L 

Thou'st  brought  me  back  to  other  days, — 

The  tender  and  the  good, 
Who's  sleeping  in  his  silent  home, 

'Midst  woodland  solitude. 


46  REPLY    TO     BYRONA. 

But  not  more  lonely  is  the  grave 

Of  him  for  whom  I  pine, 
Than  are  these  faded  hopes  which  still 

Round  early  memories  twine. 

Ten  years  !  ten  long  and  weary  years, 
Passed  like  a  scroll  away, 

Since  last  I  stood  upon  that  spot, 
Upon  that  fatal  day. 


I'm  gazing  on  a  manly  form, 

And  on  a  manly  face,    \w*l  £  n* 

And  clasped,  with  all  a  husband's  love, 

;  !  YC^*"'^  *U>)iM  *  :  •If'.' 
In  one  long,  fond  embrace.    Ifr^iJ&JZ* 

•j-'Jt  'to  gaijionaltl  aWT         ** 

.  WT       .  -  •*      ' 

And  words  of  tenderness    are  breathed  — 
Of  happiness  and  home, 


And  promises  that  ne'er  again, 

•<f  £  [ 
From  that  dear  ark  he'd  roam. 


Vf  S  x£  \ 


Ah,  well  didst  thou  define  each  thought, 
That  dwelt  in  that  fond  breast! 

For  when  apart  from  those  he  loved, 
His  spirit  found  no  rest. 


BEPLY    TO     BTRONA.  47 

But  back  again  he  would  have  come, 

To  quiet  every  fear, 
And  with  his  tender,  loving  tones, 

His  household  band  to  cheer. 

But  though  we  looked  with  anxious  hearts, 

And  tearful  eyes,  'twas  vain; 
Kelentless  death  had  severed  us, — 

"We  never  met  again. 

Now  thanks,  kind  stranger,  for  each  word, 
Each  thought,  that  thou  hast  penned, 

And  thanks  for  all  thy  sympathy, 
My  loved  and  gifted  friend. 


ODE  TO  FRIENDSHIP. 

•  • .  M  * 

"  Friendship  above  all  ties  doth  bind  the  heart ; 
And  faith  in  friendship  is  the  noblest  part." 

EARL  OP  ORRERY— Henry  the  Fifth. 

LET  those  who  scoff  at  Friendship's  name, 
For  others  ne'er  profess  a  flame 
Which  they  can  never  feel. 

Sure  friendship's  near  akin  to  love; 
"Tis  cherished  by  the  saints  above, 
And  recognized  in  heaven. 

Oh,  I  have  felt  its  gentle  power; 
It  soothed  me  in  the  bitterest  hour 
Of  anguish  and  of  strife. 

When  worn  with  sorrow  and  with  care, 
I've  turned  and  found  a  solace  there, 
Naught  else  on  earth  could  give. 


THE  RETURN. 

"  I  looked  again  —  the  wanderer  had  returned." 

BYEON. 

ROOM  for  the  loved  one  !  room  once  more  !  — 
He  has  come  again  to  his  native  shore; 

He  has  come  at  last  from  the  bounding  sea, 
"With  a  spirit  light,  with  a  spirit  free: 

There  's  a  thrill  in  his  heart,  of  rapture  wild, 
Like  the  gushing  tones  of  a  joyous  child. 


He  is  pausing  now  by  the  hawthorn  shade, 

The  favorite  haunt  where  his  childhood  played; 

Where  he  used  to  stand,  with  a  glistening  eye, 
And  list  to  the  sea's  wild  lullaby: 

For  even  there,  by  that  shelly  strand, 
Did  he  dream  of  a  far-off  stranger  land. 


50  T  H  E     K  E  T  D  B  N  . 

Oh !  that  stranger  land  had  charms  for  him, 
As  he  seemed  to  look  through  the  future  dim; 

The  gentle  breath  of  a  classic  land 

Seemed  to  fan   his   cheek  with  its  breezes  bland, 

And  on  Fancy's  wings  he  was  bounding  free, 
A  mariner  o'er  an  "untroubled  sea." 


That  time  is  passed,  that  dream  proved  true; 

He  has  plowed  old  Neptune's  waters  blue; 
He  has  looked  on  Yenice,  the  proud,  the  free, 

Where  she  sits  in  her  glory,  fair  "  Bride  of  the  Sea," 
And  traversed  the  shores  of  sunny  France, 

Bright  land  of  beauty  and  romance ! — 


And  paused,  where  the  moonlight  softly  lay 
On  the  ancient  walls  of  the  Alhambra, — 

Where  the  last,  last  sigh  of  the  sad  Moor  stole 
Like  a  knell  of  death  to  a  parting  soul : 

But  that  time  has  passed,  he  has  ceased  to  roam, 
And  come  at  last  to  his  native  home. 


T  H  E    E  K  T  U  K  N  .  51 

And  ne'er  has  he  looked  on  a  fairer  sight, 
Than  his  father's  house  in  the  softened  light ; 

And  the  lowly  cottage,  just  beside, — 
The  humble  home  of  his  plighted  bride, 

Where  she's  kept  her  faith  for  many  years, 

And  looked  for  his  coming  through  dimming  tears. 


-,  K  &  '') 


A  TALE  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

"  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  more  worth, 
Than  to  be  dealt  in  by  attorneyship." 

J3HAKSPEARE — Henry  IV. 

MORN'S  earliest  rays  had  tinged  the  tree-tops 
With  their  golden  hue  ;  when  a  fond  mother 
Sought  the  couch  whereon  her  child  reposed. 
"Awake,  my  Alice!  awake!"  she  cried, 
"  To  happiness :  it  is  thy  bridal  morn ! 
The  sun  comes  out  with  gorgeous  splendor, 
As  though  it  sought  to  make  more  glad  this  happy  day. 
Dost  mark  how  proudly  even  now  its  crimson 
Glories  rest  on  yonder  hillock  fair,  where 
Stands  thy  future  home  ?     "When  eve  shall  come,  thou 
Wilt  be  mistress  of  the  proudest  mansion 


A     TALE     WITHOUT    A     NAME.  63 

In  this  proud  city  —  the  envy  of  the 

London  world.     Slaves  at  thy  bidding  then  will 

Come ;  broad  lands  and  manors  fair  be  thine ;  and 

More  than  this,  the  deep,  abiding  love  of 

One,  whom  many  sought,  but  sought  in  vain, 

To  win.    Dost  hear  me  not,  my  daughter  ?" 

Gently 

The  maiden  started  from  her  sleep,  with  such 
A  look  of  radiant  happiness  upon 
Her  face,  the  mother's  conscience  ceased  a 
Moment  to  reproach.     But,  ah!  'twas  but 
A  transient  gleam  —  the  meteor's  ray.     With 
Her  soft  hand  she  put  aside  the  curls  that 
Clustered  round  her  brow  of  snowy  whiteness, 
And  in  a  tone  of  deep  and  touching  sadness 
Said — "Why  didst  thou  wake  me,  mother? 
I  in  dreams  had  wandered  far  away,  to  my 
Sweet  childhood's  home.     I  stood  beside  the  fount, 
Whose  limpid  waters  gushed  and  bubbled 
At  my  feet ;  and  by  my  side  was  HERBERT  GRAY, 
My  childhood's  playmate — the  dear  companion 
Of  my  later  youth  ;  and  hand  in  hand  we 


Roved  together  'inid  the  sweets  that  scent 

My  native  vale :  and  he  did  gaze  so  fondly 

In  my  face,  and  clasp  my  hand  so  tenderly 

In  his,  I  feel  the  pressure  of  it  yet. 

But,  ah  !  't  was  but  ar  dream  !"     And  tears,  those 

Swift,  unbidden  messengers  of  grief,  dimmed 

Her  soft  pleading  eyes. 

The  mother's  brow  grew  dark. 
"What!  tears  upon  thy  bridal  morn  ?  they  ill 
Become  thee:  thou  shouldst  be  a  woman  now,  and 
Lay  aside  all  childish  things."     "Oh!  chide  me 
Not,  my  mother ;  but  let  me  still  weep  on  : 
To-morrow,  though  my  heart  should  break,  I  must 
Not  shed  a  tear." 


Morn  on  her  rosy  wings  went  by; 
The  noon's  hot,  scorching  rays  had  sunk  into 
The  quiet  .shades  of  eve,  when  the  bride-maidens 
Sought  the  gentle  bride.    But  when  they  came  unto 
Her  room,  they  marveled  much  to  find  she 
Was  not  there :  they  sought,  but  sought  in  vain ;  they 
Called,  but  Echo  only  answered  back 


A     TALE     WITHOUT     A     NAME.  55 

v 


The  call.     The  father's  brow  grew  dark  with  grief; 
The  mother  wept  aloud  ;  and  the  stern  bridegroom 
Muttered  something  of  woman's  faithlessness,  — 
When,  lo  !    a  note  was  brought.     'Twas  signed  by 
Eerbert  Gray  ;  and  read  —  "We  two  have  grown  together, 
With  such  fond  and  earnest  faith,  —  have  loved  each  other 
With  such  holy  love,  to  sunder  us  is  death  .....  " 
A.nd  when  he  spoke  of  Alice,  his  sweet  bride, 
Be  said  —  "The  primrose  better  loves  the  shade, 
Fhe  violet  seeks  a  sheltered  dell, 
A.nd  there  unfolds  its  sweets."     One  trembling  line 
Was  writ  by  Alice'  hand  :    and  when  the  parents 
Read  it,  ambition  died  within  their  hearts, 
A.nd  they  acknowledged  there,  before  their  guests, 
Limits  to  parental  law  ;   for  though  a  parent 
May  restrain  his  child,  he  must  not  barter 
Her  for  gold. 


THE  VOW. 


I  PLEDGE  me  not  to  love  another,  —  .1**? 

I  bind  me  by  a  vow 
To  love,  in  clear  and  cloudy  weather, 

None  other  one  but  thou. 


Though  others  tell  me  that  I'm  fair, 
And  whisper  in  mine  ear 


That  I  have  all  endowments  rare, 
Still,  still  I  will  not  hear. 

Then  cast  away  thy  jealous  fears, 
And  list  to  what  I  say  —  ^CC, 

My  heart  thy  kindness  always  cheers, 
Then  smile  on  me,  I  pray.     ,  -'!<^W  " 


T  H  E     V  O  W  .  57 


Thou  foolish  one !    thou  canst  not  know 
How  fondly  thou  art  loved,      ^JJ^L 

Or  thou  wouldst  never  doubt  me  so, 

When  faithful  I  have  proved.  Zjfe^v)  (.  u/ 

Say,  wouldst  thou  never  have  me  smile 

But  when  I  smile  on  thee  ?     ^X/^£A     i&strls 

Nor  seek  thy  absence  to  beguile, 
When  friends  are  kind  to  me  ? 

Wouldst  have  me  coldly  turn  away, 

And  slight  those  friends  so  true  ?       iaf'^f< 

Nor  ever  have  a  single  thought, 
But  what  I  give  to  you  ? 

/ 

Then  be  it  so!   I'll  love  thee  still, 

With  more  than  woman's  love ;    ' 
Though  all  unkind  must  be  thy  will, 
By  tenderness  I'll  prove 

That  thou  art  all  in  all  to  me, — 

The  dearest  and  the  best, — 
I  only  wish  thy  smiles  to  see, 

And  I  am  more  than  blest. 


THE  RUSTIC  MAIDEN  TO  HER  LOVER. 


"  Our  love  it  ne'er  was  reckoned, 

Yet  good  it  is,  and  true  ; 
I  'ts  half  the  world  to  me,  dear, 
It  's  all  the  world  to  you."  —  HOOD. 


I  HAVE  loved  thee  with  a  love 
That  can  know  no  change  ; 

And  with  thee,  through  distant  lands, 
Oft  in  fancy  range.    ;    ryx  fA 


I  have  pictured  to  myself 
A  lone,  but  lovely  spot,  — 

With  honeysuckle  twined  around, 
A  neat  and  simple  cot. 


THE     RUSTIC     MAIDEN     TO     HER     LOVER.        59 

Far  away  from  noise  and  strife, 

1t*f      *' 

Ambition,  pomp,  and  pride, 
Happily  would  our  days  pass  on, 
Sweet  the  moments  glide. 

I  my  household  work  would  do,  £&is\  ft  ^,^V 

. 

Watch  thy  home  with  care,     /> 
And  make  thine  every  sorrow  light 
By  sympathy  and  prayer. 

And  when  at  eve  thy  work  was  done, 
I'd  sit  and  sing  to  thee    ci/tXlf  /  *&* 

Songs  of  our  own  loved  mountain  home, 
Far  o'er  the  deep  blue  sea. 

Or  else,  perchance,  I'd  mind  thee  of 

The  talks  we'd  had  together, 
And  many  little  pleasant  walks, 

In  pleasant  summer  weather. 

With  friends  who  then  were  far  away, 

That  we  had  left  behind, 
But  whose  loved  images  still  dwelt 

Imprinted  on  each  mind. 


60       THE     RUSTIC     MAIDEN     TO     HEK     LOVEB. 

Oh!  who  would  ask  a  happier  lot? 

I  would  not  change  it  now 
For  all  the  bright  and  glittering  gems 

That  deck  a  monarch's  brow. 


For  well  the  great  Philosopher 

Of  poets  truly  said, 
A  "golden  sorrow"  is  their  lot, 

Encircled  round  their  head. 


«  --  •  " 

You  think  that  I  must  weep,  to  leave 
The  home  I  love  so  well  ;  — 

The  deep  devotion  of  her  heart, 
A  maiden  may  not  tell.   $f$*f 


Long  as  the  object  of  her  love 

Is  worthy  in  her  eyes, 
She  never  dreams  that  she  can  make 

Too  great  a  sacrifice.    0A#.! 


And  when  unto  the  Western  wilds 

I  go,  thy  home  to  bless, 
Thou  then  perhaps  will  learn  the  depth 

Of  woman's  tenderness. 


THE     RUSTIC     MAIDEN     TO     HER    LOVER.       61 

But  I  have  written  quite  enough, 

For  thy  fond  eyes  to  see 
The  weakness  of  thine  AMY'S  heart, — 

So  now  good  night  to  thee! 


^rjii!?)'  u    EIVP0' 

*'    ' 

a*/jb  'aril  /; 


STANZAS 

SACKED  TO  THE  MEMOKY  OF  SAMUEL  MILLIZAN, 

WHO   DIED   IN    CALIFOBNIA,  NOVEMBER    25TH,   1851. 

IN  the  far-off  land  of  the  stranger's  home, 
Where  the  south  winds  fan  the  breath, 

Amid  lovely  flowers,  and  "golden  dreams," 
They  laid  him  down  in  death. 

A  lone  tree  marks  the  sacred  spot, 

Where  he  sleeps  in  his  dreamless  sleep, 

And  the  moaning  winds  with   a  pitying  sound, 
Their  nightly  vigils  keep ; 

And  beauteous  birds  with  their  silvery  wings, 

Will  nestle  upon  that  tree; 
And  spring's  sweet  violets  deck  the  grave 

Which  his  loved  ones  ne'er  can  see; 


STANZAS.  63 

And  oft  will  the  stranger's  careless  foot 

Pass  the  lone  and  sad  spot  by, 
Nor  think  of  one  who  came  so  far 

From  his  native  land  —  to  die! 

Oh,  sad  was  the  day  and  fatal  the  hour, 

When  his  spirit  sighed  to  roam; 
When  he  turned  from  the  dear  and  sacred  joys, 

That  clustered  around  his  home! 

Q 


THE  SICK  CHILD'S  LAMENT. 


"On!   mother,  I  am  sorrowful; 

There's  sadness  in  my  heart; 
I  know  not  why  it  is,  and  yet 

All  day  the  tears  will  start. 


>-.' 


"They  tell  me  of  a  better  land;— 

O  mother,  is  it  so, 
That  they  who  reach  those  radiant  shores, 

No  pain  or  sickness  know? 

"And,  mother,  in  my  sleep,  last  night, 

There  o'er  my  spirit  fell 
A  strange  sweet  dream,  I  scarce  know  why, 

But  fain  to  thee  would  tell. 


THE    SICK    CHILD'S    LAMENT.  65 

"I  thought  that,  robed  in  spotless  white, — 

A  crown  upon  my  head, — 
Surrounded  by  a  fairy  band 

Of  children, — I  was  led 

"By  a  tall  figure,  clothed  in  black — 

A  scepter  in  his  hand, 
And  every  one  to  whom  he  spoke 

Sprang  forth  at  his  command. 

"He  led  us  on  through  darksome  scenes, 

And  damp  unwholesome  air ; 
And  then  there  burst  upon  my  sight, 

A  scene  so  heavenly  fair — 

"A  city,  all  of  purest  gold, 

Set  round  with  radiant  gems, 
And,  every  place  I  looked,  I  saw 

Ten  thousand  diadems; 

"And  countless  numbers  tuned  their  harps, 

In  strains  of  music  sweet ; 
And  angels,  bearing  golden  lyres, 

Came  forth  our  steps  to  greet. 


• 

] 

66  THE    SICK    CHILD'S    LAMENT. 


"They  led  us  to  a  lofty  throne, 

Of  ivory  and  gold : — 
But,  ah  !  the  beauty  of  that  place 

Must  still  be  all  untold; 

"For  could  my  childish  lips  assume 

An  angel's  heavenly  tone, 
Fruitless  and  vain  my  words  would  prove, 

And  useless  be  the  loan. 

"  Then  wonder  not  I  'm  sorrowful, 

And  have  been  so  all  day ; 
For  though  I  love  my  own  dear  home, 

I  fain  would  always  stay 

"Amid  those  scenes  so  beautiful, 

So  gladdening  to  the  eye : 
But,  ere  I  reach  that  lofty  home, 

Dear  mother,  I  must  die." 

The  mother's  cheek  grew  deadly  pale, 
Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 

She  placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart, 
As  stifling  all  her  fears; 


THE    SICK    CHILD'S    LAMENT.  67 

But  when  she  spoke,  her  words  were  calm 

As  an  unruffled  stream, 
And  gentle,  tender,  pure  and  kind 

As  her  own  loved  one's  dream: — 

"  Thy  prayer  is  heard,  my  beautiful, 

My  loving  one  and  bright! 
Thy  lips  to  me  too  soon  will  breathe 

Their  last — yes,  last  'Good  nightl'" 

"  Yes,  mother,  for  I  hear  again 

The  music  softly  flow, 
And  see  the  angels  beckon  me, — 

I  'm  weary,  and  would  go 

"  To  join  that  high  and  holy  throng 

Who  worship  there  above, — 
One  kiss,  dear  mother!  'tis  the  last, 

Last  pledge  of  earthly  love !" 

She  placed  a  kiss  upon  her  child, 

In  fondness,  but  in  woe  ; 
Then  knelt  in  that  deep  agony, 

Which  none  but  mothers  know. 


68  THE    SICK    CHILD'S    LAMENT 

But  when  she  rose  the  storm  had  ceased; 

She  felt  as  one  who'd  given, 
With  all  its  pure  and  sinless  truth, 

An  angel  back  to  heaven. 


A  MIDNIGHT    SONG. 

I  AM  alone,  'tis  midnight  hour, 
And  midnight  breezes  fan  my  brow: 

How,  with  a  deep  and  holy  power, 
Are  early  memories  gathering  nowl 

Tell  me,  ye  pale  and  tranquil  stars, 
That  in  such  placid  beauty  shine, 

While  anguish  deep  my  spirit  mars, 
Hold'st  thou  the  lost  and  loved  of  mine  ? 

Or  art  thou,  like  our  own  dark  world, 
Redeemed  by  precious  blood,  set  free? 

From  thy  proud  innocence  been  hurled? 
Didst  nail  thy  Savior  to  a  tree? 


•> 

70  A      MIDNIGHT      SONG. 

*  • 

Of  if  thou  art  what  first  thou  seemed, 
A  heaven  where  all  is  bright  and  fair, 

"Where  are  those  loving  ones,  who  beamed 
In  visioned  loveliness  while  here? 


*HO«    THSMEUIK  A 


_ 

twoil  Ittiimhhit  fcij"  ?<>«cln  KA  I 
••i«.{*  vm  fui-   fci.xo'v.u!   :  '•.:!.  ;r:ii^v!-i-;  A. 

f-«oH 


LINES   WRITTEN  FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

To  write  a  few  lines  in  your  Album,  my  friend, 
Shall  engross  a  few  moments  my  thoughts  and  my  pen : 
But  in  these  few  moments  — oh,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
"Where  shall  I  begin,  or  where  leave  off,  I  pray  ? 

In  the  first  place,  I  '11  speak  of  the  wind  and  the  weather, 
With  its  clouds,  and  its  storms,  and  its  sunshine  together; 
'Tis  a  picture  of  life, — all  a  moral  may  glean 
From  each  withering  flower  and  murmuring  stream. 

Oh  !  the  dreams  of  my  childhood  were  brilliant  and  gay; 
But,  like  perishing  flowers,  they  faded  away: 
Like  perishing  flowers,  they  were  born  but  to  bloom, 
Then  wither,  and  die,  and  sink  in  the  tomb. 


72  LINES     WRITTEN      FOR      AN     ALBUM. 

So  bright  were  my  visions,  I  oft  would  retreat 
To  some  lovely  fountain,  with  flowers  at  my  feet, 
And  there  such  fair  dreams  of  happiness  frame 
As  are  known  in  this  cold  selfish  world  but  by  name. 

But  ere  eighteen  brief  summers  had  passed  o'er  my  brow, 
The  hope  of  my  heart  in  the  grave  was  laid  low  :>• 
Since  then,  who  can  tell,  who  can  dare  to  divine, 

The  sorrows  and  cares  that  have  ever  been  mine  ? 

T&'ilA    £A -$TJ      71 4X1  lAltl'-* 

Thou  too,  dearest  friend,  a  deep  sorrow  hast  known  ; 
But  I  trust  from  thy  spirit  forever  it  's  flown  : 
May  the  fair  hopes  that  linger  and  dwell  round  thee  yet, 
Soothe  every  sorrow  and  soften  regret ! 

May  thy  son,  like  the  oak,  the  forest's  proud  tree, 
Be  a  shelter,  protection,  and  comfort  to  thee ! 
May  thy  daughters  be  gentle,  obedient,  and  kind, 
And  possess  every  grace  both  of  person  and  mind  ! 


FAREWELL. 


<x)    »«*j:>  «*;! 

"  Farewell  !  -we  shall  not  meet  again, 

As  we  are  parting  now,  — 
I  must  my  beating  heart  restrain, 

Must  veil  my  burning  brow."  —  L.  E.  L. 

•    •  r.'  i  i  • 

FAREWELL  !  the  sorrow  of  that  tone 

Falls  sadly  on  mine  ear: 
It  was  not  hard  to  learn  to  love, 
But  hard  to  learn  to  fear. 

Oh!  sad  indeed,  to  doubt  the  faith 
Of  one  once  loved  so  well,  — 

There  's  anguish  in  the  very  thought, 
And  madness  in  the  spell. 


74  FAREWELL. 

« 

That  seems  to  wreath  itself  around 

This  wounded  heart  of  mine, 
Alas,  that  'mid  our  dearest  joys 

A  dark  wreath  should  entwine! 

When  first  I  met  thee,  thou  didst  seem 

All  that  was  fond  and  gay; 
Thy  gentle  voice,  thy  winning  mien 

Could  chase  e'en  care  away. 

1 
/ 

But  now,  thy  voice  has  ceased  to  charm; 

Thy  mien  is  cold  and  proud ; 
And  that  once  sunny  brow  of  thine 

4 

Forever  wears  a  cloud. 

What  changed  thee  thus? — what  changed  thee  thus 

I  can  not  dare  surmise: 
Perhaps  thou  hast  found  a  faire  lace  ? 

Perhaps  some  brighter  eyes  ? 

Oh,  yes,  they  tell  me  thou  art  false, 

And  love  another  now! 
Then  be  it  so,  I'll  wear  again 

The  cypress  round  my  brow. 


FAREWELL.  75 

When  others  join  the  festive  train, 

And  seek  bright  hours  to  keep, 
I'll  turn  me  to  my  silent  home, 

In  solitude  to  weep. 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  WAR. 


"  No  blood-stained  victory,  in  story  bright, 
Can  give  the  philosophic  mind  delight  — 
No  triumph  please  ;  while  rage  and  death  destroy, 
Reflection  sickens  at  the  monstrous  joy." — BLOOMFIELD. 


PROUD  was  the  chariot  that  bore  the  bold  warrior 
Swift  were  the  steeds  that  sped  him  along; 

Wild  were  the  strains  of  deep  martial  music 

That  broke  from  their  ranks  in  the  soul  of  their  song. 

Bound  was  the  brow  of  the  victor  with  glory ; 

Bright,  as  the  laurels  the  proud  Roman  wore, 
Glittered  his  helmet, — beneath  the  broad  sunlight 

Floated  his  banner  in  triumph  before. 


THETKIUMPHSOFWAR.  77 

Forth  from  each  village,  and  city,  and  hamlet, 
Came  the  glad  people  their  Chieftain  to  greet, 

Beautiful  maidens  with  flowers  they  had  gathered — 
Gathered  to  strew  at  the  conqueror's   feet. 

"Long  live  our  Chieftain!  the  boldest  the  bravest! — 
"Long  live  our  Champion!'-  re-echoed  afar; 

Proud  grew  his  breast  in  that  moment  of  triumph, 
But  dark  was  his   hand  with  the  crimson  of  war. 

Wide  flew  the  gateways  that  led  to  the  palace: 
Banners  were  floating  from  turret  and  dome ; 

Fair  ladies  joyously  waved  him  a  welcome, — 
Welcome  once  more  to  his  beautiful  home. 

Bright  flowed  the  wine  that  night  at  the  banquet; 
Pages  presented  it,  bending  the  knee: 

Young  maidens  danced  to  the  gayest  of  measures, 

• 
Shouting  aloud,  "  We  are  free !    we  are  free ! " 


THE  MISERIES  OF  WAR. 


"  After  the  brightest  conquest,  what  appears 
Of  all  the  glories  'i    For  the  vanquished,  chains  !  • 
For  the  proud  victors,  what  ?  alas,  to  reign 
O'er  desolated  nations  ! "  — HANNAH  MOOKK. 


DAKK  was  the  battle-field — dark  with  the  carnage, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  the  wounded  and  slain ; 

Low  plaintive  moanings  broke  on  the  night  winds  — 
Meanings  of  anguish,  moanings  of  pain. 

Pale  gleamed  the  moonlight  o'er  the  dead  warriors ; 

Sad  looked  the  stars  on  that  desolate  sight : 
Proud  forms  had  perished  that  day  in  the  battle ; 

Fond   hopes  had  died   'mid  the  thickest  of  fight. 


THE     MISERIES     OF     WAR.  79 

Hoof-trodden,  scarred  by  the  sword  and  the  saber, 
All  showed  the  place  where  the  foemen  had  striven ; 

Mournfully  mingled  the  laurel  and  cypress, 
Broken  hearts  wept  for  the  ties  that  were  riven. 

Sad  sighed  the  Wind  Spirit  'mid  the  lone  branches, 
Sad  as  a  requiem  or  dirge  for  the  slain  ; 

Pale  watchers  looked  from  their  lone  far-off  dwellings, 
Dreaming  of  loved  ones  they  'd  meet  not  again. 

Paused  I  a  moment  beside  a  bold  warrior;* 

Slowly  his  spirit  was  passing  away, 
Grasped  in  his  hand  was  the  standard  of  battle, 

Bravely  he'd  fought  for  his  country  that  day. 

*'  Scenes  of  my  childhood,"  he   murmured,  in  sadness, 
"Wife  of  my  bosom,  and  children,  adieu! 

Farewell,  my  country !   I  fought  for  your  freedom, — 
There  are  tears  for  my  loved  ones,  but  glory  for  you." 


A  PRAYER  FOR  MY  SISTER. 

MAY  no  dark  sorrow  ever  fling 

Its  shadows  round  thy  path, 
But  all  things  lovely,  all  things  fair, 

Be  thine  in  life  and  death ! 

It  was  evening,  gentle  evening, 

"Twilight  dews  were  falling  fast;" 

Day,  with  all  its  radiant  splendor, 
Like  a  brilliant  dream  had  passed: 

1  sat  musing,  sadly  musing, 
On  this  weary  world  of  ours, — 

"  True,"  I  said,  "  life  has  its  pleasures, 
Sometimes  thorns,  and  sometimes  flowers ; 


A     PRAYER     FOR     MY     SISTEK.  81 

•* 
.    »        . 

"But  the  thorns  I've  always  gathered, 

For  they  in  my  pathway  lay, — 
Shunning  never  the  few  flowers 

That  were  scattered  by  the  way." 

As  I  thus  sat  sadly  musing, 

Thy  sweet  voice  fell  on  mine  ear, 

Ringing  out  so  glad  and  joyous, 
Bird-like,  musical  and  clear. 

"  Thou  art  happy,  dearest  sister," 
Thus  I  murmured  sad  and  low, — 

"May  no  darkling  shadow  ever 
Dim  thy  pathway  here  below; 

"But  like  yonder  flowing  river, 
Like  that  fair  and  silvery  stream, 

May  thy  life  glide  sweetly  onward, 
Happy  as  a  poet's  dream  — 

"  Like  that  far-ofi'  land  of  sculpture, 
That  sweet  sunny,  southern  clime, 

Where  'tis  always  smiling  summer, 
Never  chilly  winter  time  !  " 


82  A     PRAYER     FOR     MY     SISTER. 

This  the  prayer,  O  dearest  sister! 

This  the  prayer  I  breathe  for  thee, — 
That  thy  life  be  ever  happy, 

In  time  and  in  eternity! 


IdO 


THE  PARTING. 


"  Bnt  there  was  weeping  far  away  ; 

And  gentle  eyes,  for  him 
With  watching  many  an  anxious  day, 

"Were  sorrowful  and  dim."  —  BBTANT. 


iw 
"Ye  woods  and  wilds,"  how  bright  ye  seem! 

As  green  the  mantle  on  your  boughs, 
As  when  in  days  now  long  gone  by, 
Ye  listened  to  my  Edmund's  vows. 

-  -;b^f  ooj.i»  ;^kta«i  oiH  now  ^u3 
The  birds  sang  out  their  happiest  song; 

The  wild-flowers  wore  their  brightest  hue; 
The  skies  in  beauty  o'er  us  bent, 
Robed  in  their  softest,  loveliest  blue. 


84  THEPARTING. 


Oh!  were  not  those  delightful  hours 
When  every  hope  of  life  was  young  ? 

How,  with  fond  woman's  trusting  powers, 
Upon  each  tender  word  I  hung ! 

But,  ah !  the  blessed  charm  soon  fled ; 

For  they  who  loved  were  doomed  to  part,- 
The  one  to  die  in  foreign  lands, 

The  other  bear  a  broken  heart. 

.07 I  '  **  /  *  / 

"We  parted: — each  returning  morn 

I  came  to  look  upon  the  sea ; 
And  every  eve  I  sat  me  down 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  this  tree. 

Forever  hallowed  be  the  spot, 

Where  first  and  last  I  sat  with  him ! 
I  Ve  gazed  upon  the  sacred  place 

Until  my  very  sight  grew  dim. 

•f  »TmHf;i;\  ort-  i*rf  -.7 

But  soon  the  fatal  news  came  back — 
It  sped  like  wildfire  through  my  brain — 

That  he,  the  loved  and  gifted  one, 
In  battle  on  the  seas  was  slain. 


THE     PARTING.  85 

For  many  a  long  and  weary  month, 

I  wandered  forth  a  maniac  wild, 
Until  a  mother's  tender  care 

Restored  the  reason  of  her  child. 

Since  then,  with  fond  but  faded  hopes, 
I  Ve  wandered  through  the  earth  alone ; 

Cheered  by  the  high  and  holy  hope, 
I  yet  shall  meet  with  him  I  mourn. 


THE  CONSUMPTIVE. 

»  . 

"  Can  this  be  death  1    There 's  bloom  upon  her  check  I 
But  now  I  see  it  is  no  living  hue, 
But  a  strange  hectic — like  the  unnatural  red 
Which  autumn  plants  upon  the  perished  leaf." 

,      % 

'TWAS  on  a  lovely  sabbath  eve, 

I  walked  me  forth  to  take  the  air, 
When,  'neath  a  vine-clad  cottage  roof, 

I  saw  a  young  and  lovely  pair: 
v  The  youth  was  tall  and  finely  formed, 

But  in  his  dark,  expressive  eye 
Some  deep  laid  sorrow  seemed  to  dwell, 

And  from  his  bosom  came  a  sigh. 

The  lady,1  fair  and  slightly  formed, — 
Her  eyes  were  dark,  and  lustrous  too, — 

But,  oh !  that  lovely  cheek  of  hers 
Wore  far  too  deep  the  roseate  hue. 


TI1ECONSUMPTIVE.  87 

.*'**  .^ 

I  listened,  but  no  word  was  spoken ; 

A  low,  deep  cough  broke  on  mine  ear, — 
It  was  enough,  I  turned  aside 

To  dry  away  a  starting  tear. 

The  lady  spoke  at  length,  and  said  — 
"  Dearest !   I  soon  from  thee  must  part, 

But  I  shall  bear,  e'en  unto  death, 
Thine  image  graved  upon  my  heart? 

Thy  watchful  love,  thy  tender  care 
Of  me,  I  never  can  requite; 

But  there  is  One  who  dwells  above, 
-    t  "'  -    ^^| 
And  will  reward  in  power  and  might." 


*  :.?•[/,/   ;-HJ: 

"Nay!    talk  not  thus,"  he  wildly  said  — 

"  So  young,  so  fair,  so  lately  wed ! 
I  can  not  bear  to  think  that  thou 

Must  wear  the  cypress  o  'er  thy  brow  ; 
I  can  not  bear  to  yield  thee  up ! 

God  give  me  grace  to  drink  the  cup !  " 

"Cease  thy  repinings  —  vain  indeed, — 
For,  oh !   I  feel  death  on  me  now :  — 


88  THE     CONSUMPTIVE. 

$&& 

Here,  clasp  me  closer  to  thy  heart, 

And  lay  thy  hand  upon  my  brow; — 
And  say,  beloved,  when  I  am  gone, 

Thou  wilt  not  mourn  for  my  return;      '/tit *£•-'& 
Life's  feverish  dreams  are  almost  o'er, — 

We  part,  dear  friend,  to  meet  no  more 
On  earth  ;  but  ties,  thus  rudely  riven, 

"Will  soon  be  fondly  blent  in  heaven !  " 

.      3 

She  spoke  no  more,  her  breath  failed  fast, 

She  gave  one  look  —  it  was  the  last  — 
'Twas  full  of  faith,  and  hope,  and  love; 

Then  raising  her  dying  eyes  above. 
He  sadly  bowed  himself  and  wept: 

The  servants  deemed  their  lady  slept, 
And  wondered  at  the  grief  so  wild 

That  bowed  their  master  like  a  child ; 
But  soon  the  truth  upon  them  broke  — 

She  wept  indeed,  but  never  woke ! 


Not  long  he  lingered  here  below, 
With  none  to  soothe  his  silent  woe: 


THECONSUMPTIVE.  89 

They  sleep  together,  side  by  side — • 
The  bridegroom,  and  his  fair  young  bride ; 

Not  on  a  downy  couch  they  lay, 
But  in  their  prison-house  of  clay ; 

Their  bodies  rest  beneath  the  sod  — 
Their  spirits  dwell,  I  trust,  with  God. 


t     .5r*T'P*'14  3  «««>«>  • 

*  i» 


-    . 

JOSEPHINE'S  REMONSTRANCE. 

"  Bonaparte,  behold  that  bright  star ;  it  is  mine  !  and  remember, 
to  mine — not  thine— has  sovereignty  been  promised.  Separate,  then, 
our  fates,  and  your  star  fades." 

•ff  yn 

NAY,  bid  me  not  depart  from  thee! 

Thou  hast  not  said  the  word ; 
Or  it  is  all  forgotten  now, 
Or  else  not  rightly  heard. 

*,  f  /?/4*4* 

.  /       A  < 
Speak  quickly!   tell  me  'tis  not  so! 

I  have  not  heard  aright! 
Thou  wouldst  not  cast  upon  my  soul 
This  dark  and  withering  blight! 

Napoleon !   in  that  fatal  hour 

Peace  will  from  thee  depart ; 
And  not  alone  shall  I  be  doomed 

To  bear  a  broken  heart. 


•    >    •« 

•«*.*»  *  .'• '.  - 

JOSEPHINE'S   REMONSTRANCE.  91 

"•  V ,  .•<  .  **•'•" 

»*-  . 

Yet  think  not  that  I  wish  't  were  so, — 

God  knows  this  heart  of  mine, 
That  dear  and  precious  to  my  soul, 
Is  every  wish  of  thine. 

Yet  bear  in  mind,  the  crown  you  wear 

Was  promised  unto  me; 
That  I,  not  thou,  have  ever  been 

The  Child  of  Destiny. 

Apart  from  me  thou  canst  not  live, 

Thy  fortunes  will  decay, 
And  thou,  Napoleon!  in  that  hour, 

Wilt  think  on  what  I  say. 

And  yet  I  would  not  seek  to  move 

Thy  purpose,  firmly  set ; 
But,  oh!  forgive  the  tender  hopes 

That  cling  to  memory  yet! 


THOU  CANST  NOT  FORGET  ME. 

THOU  canst  not  forget  me:  I  know  that  thy  heart 

Will  cherish  my  memory  wherever  thou  art; 

My  image  will  rise,  like  a  spirit,  to  thee, — 

Thou  mayst  strive,  but,  alas !  thou  canst  never  be  free. 

'Midst  the  gay  and  the  giddy,  thou  'It  seek  to  forget, 
But  vain  are  thy  strivings,  thou  still  must  regret: 
The  hopes  thou  hast  blighted,  the  heart  cast  away, 
Will  linger  around  thee  till  life's  latest  day. 

.  '  •'/-          T  ^ 

And  I — oh,  my  spirit  is  dark  as  the  night, 
When  I  think  of  the  hopes  thou  hadst  power  to  blight! 
But  think  not  I  hate  thee ;  no,  still  in  my  heart 
Thou  art  shrined,  and  from  memory  thou  ne'er  canst 
depart. 


t  *  •  . 

THOU  CANST  NOT  FORGET  ME.       93 

When  evening's  soft  shadows  shall  wreathe  round  my 

head, 

And  the  day  in  its  splendor  and  beauty  hath  fled, 
Oh  !  then  in  my  spirit  thou  surely  shalt  claim 
A  place,  and  in  prayer  I  will  murmur  thy  nam 

Oh!  wilt  thou  not  turn  from  the  snares  that  allure, 
And  seek  for  the  joys  that  are  holy  and  pure  ? 
'Twill  save  thee  from  sorrow,  from  folly  and  vice, 
Then  seek  for  one  gem — 'tis  the  pearl  of  great  price. 


'•ft^VjCff    •jfftl 

,4  •;&;  f 


n  MBiroijj. 

•<i<:  '.'[•/"  ."}  •j«-'Wjjpj$5j  b 

ELEGIAC  LINES. 

'••rffettiii  '-.r^-^-ie-;!*  '•uo'*teb 

AWAKE,  my  mournful  harp,  once  more, 
Awake  and  sing  thy  saddest  strain ! 

Thrice  have  I  tried  to  touch  my  lyre, 
And  thrice  my  efforts  proved  in  vain. 

But  now,  with  trembling  sadness,  I 

Haste  to  obey  a  loved  request: 
Would  that  with  holy  feeling  I 

Could  every  word  and  thought  invest. 

Mourniul  indeed,  and  sad  thy  fate ; 

Far,  far  from  all  to  thee  most  dear, 
To  wrestle  with  the  monster  Death, 

Within  that  desert  lone  and  dear. 


ELEGIAC     LINES.  95 

*      •*'•»,  .  .       * 

No  tender  sister  o'er  thee  stood ; 

No  fond  and  sorrowing  mother  there, 
With  all  a  mother's  holy  love, 

Breathed  forth  for  thee  a  last  sad  prayer. 

A  worn,  but  now  a  broken  band, 

With  mournful  step  and  slow, 
Bore  thee  unto  thy  silent  home, 

And  laid  thy  proud  form  low. 

With  lonely  sorrow  on  their  hearts 

And  many  a  lingering  look, 
With  folded  arms  upon  their  breasts, 

Their  last  farewell  they  took ; 

Then  turned  away  with  saddened  hearts, 

And  brows  of  sadness  too  ; 
And  tears  't  were  wrung  from  manly  eyes, 

Now  spoke  their  last  adieu.0 

And  thou,  O  sorrowing  mother!  thou — 

What  anguish  hast  thou  known ! 
And  how  has  cruel  destiny 

Thy  fondest  hopes  o'erthrown ! 
9 


96  ELEGIAC     LINES. 

-  *    '  f  t,      *         -      * 

Did  dark,  prophetic  visions  come 

To  warn  thee  of  his  fate  ? 
And  didst  thou  dream,  ere  three  moons  passe 

Thou  shouldst  be  desolate  ? 

^Mp       •••  >  '• 

Ah,  no !  for  hope  is  ever  strong 

And  bright  within  the  breast, 
And  phantoms  ever  lure  us  on, 
And  say  we  shall  be  blest. 

And  blest,  indeed,  thou  yet  shalt  be, 
In  that  bright  heaven  to  which  he  's  gone 

It  is  no  idle  promise  now, 
It  is  no  phantom,  lures  thee  on. 


TO  A  NEGLECTED  ARTIST. 

-  "  Divinest  Art  1  the  stars  above 

Were  fated  on  thy  birth  to  shine  I, 
Oh,  born  of  beauty  and  of  love, 
What  early  poetry  was  thine !" 

HAVE  you  been  abroad  to  a  far-off  land, 

To  win  for  yourself  a  name? 
With  an  aching  heart  'neath  a  foreign  sky, 

Have  you  toiled  for  the  breath  of  fame  ? 

If  not,  then  away  with  your  easel  now, 
Your  paint  and  your  pencils  too ; 

For,  could  you  draw  with  a  mightier  skill 
Than  the  art  of  a  Raphael  knew, 


98  TO   A   NEGLECT  ED   ART  1ST. 

/ 

'T  would  avail  you  not :  they  would  pass  you  by, 

They  would  coldly  hurry  on 
To  one  who  had  come  from  a  distant  clime — 

A  rare  and  a  wondrous  one. 

But  you  say,  you  love  your  native  land ; 

That  her  hills,  all  bathed  in  light, 
Are  scenes  that  an  artist  holds  most  dear — 

A  fair  and  a  lovely  sight. 

'T  is  true ;  we  can  boast  of  noble  trees, 
Broad  streams,  and  fairest  flowers; 

That  a  thousand  varied  beauties  dwell 
In  this  happy  land  of  ours. 

But  heed  them  not — away  !  away ! 

Though  the  loving  and  the  true 
Should  linger  around  with  a  holy  spell, 

Oh,  bid  them  a  long  adieu ! 

But  you  say,  that  your  mother's  heart  would  break ; 

That  you  are  her  only  stay ; 
That  her  cheek  would  pale,  and  her  eye  grow  dim, 

While  you  'd  "  tempt  fame's  dangerous  way." 


TO    A    NEGLECTED    ARTIST.  99 


Then  be  content  with  your  lowly  lot, 
And  time  to  jon  may  bring 

Something  more  worthy  of  your  art, 
Than  a  poet's  offering. 


I  WAS  NOT  ALWAYS  SORROWFUL. 

I  WAS  not  always  sorrowful, 

Nor  was  I  always  sad; 
Nay,  fond  hopes  once  dwelt  in  iny  heart, 

And  made  my  spirit  glad. 

But  now  those  hopes  have  passed  away  — 
Hopes  far  too  bright  to  last  ; 

They  faded  when  the  autumn  flowers 

"V*>.    MM" 
Sank  'neath  the  autumn  blast. 


I 


Those  gentle  hopes  have  passed  away  — 

Hopes  unto  mortals  given, 
That  they  may  have  a  foretaste,  here, 

Of  their  blest  home  in  heaven. 


*•« 

I     WAS     NOT     ALWAYS     SORROWFUL.  101 

-  • 

Oh!   once  I  had  a  blessed  dream, — 

It  filled  me  with  delight: — 
A  vision  full  of  happiness 

Stole  o'er  me  in  the  night. 

I  thought  the  absent  and  the  loved 

Was  standing  by  my  side, 
In  all  his  youthful  loveliness  — 

In  all  his  manhood's  pride. 

At  first,  amid  a  .crowd  he  stood ; 

But  quick  to  me  he  came, 
And,  in  his  soft,  endearing  tone, 

He  fondly  breathed  my  name. 

I  started  up — I  would  not  lose, 

For  worlds,  a  single  word  ; 
For  every  feeling  of  my  soul 

By  that  dear  voice  was  stirred. 

He  said — "Oh!   I  am  happy  now,— 

Far  happier  than  when  here; 
Then  cease  to  wear  a  saddened  brow, 

Or  shed  for  me  a  tear. 


102  I     WAS     NOT     ALWAYS     SOKKOWFUL. 

"  For  could  you  see  ray  happy  home  — 

Those  mansions  of  the  blest, 
Where  all  can  hang  confidingly 

Upon  their  Saviour's  breast, 

u  You  would  not  wish  to  call  me  back 
To  this  dark  world  of  woe ; 

Not  e'en  thy  voice  could  bid  me  stay, — 
Then,  dear  one,  let  me  go." 

Long  years  have   passed  since  that  dear  form 

Last  lingered  on  nay  sight, 
And  Hope  hath  woven  many  a  dream 

To  cheer  the  gloom  of  night ; 

But  never  to  nay  spirit  yet, 
One,  half  so  sweet,  was  given, 

As  that  which  came  with  gentle  hopes 
To  point  my  soul  to  heaven. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED  TO  MY  SISTER  AT  SCHOOL. 

"  The  flush  of  youth  soon  passes  from  the  face, 
The  spells  of  Fancy  from  the  mind  depart : 
The  form  may  lose  its  symmetry  and  grace 
But  time  can  claim  no  victory  o'er  the  heart." 

MRS.  DIXNIEB. 

DEAR  sister !   could  I  bring  to  thee 

Gems  from  the  purest  mine, 
And  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth 

In  one  great  whole  combine, 
A  better,  nay  a  holier  gift, 

To  thee  could  not  be  given, 
Than  that  which  education  brings, 

With  a  true  faith  in  heaven. 


104  LINES. 

These  blessings  are  within  thy  grasp, 

Oh  !   haste  to  seize  them  now  ; 
May  modest  virtue  fill  thy  heart, 

And  laurels  crown  thy  brow ! 
From  the  church  spires  by  thy  side, 

Goes  forth  the  voice  of  prayer, 
And  thou  mayst  sing  thy  hymns  of  praise 

Free  as  the  birds  of  air. 


The  bird  that  gayly  sings  her  song, 

And  fluttering  spreads  her  wing, 
Breathes  not  a  purer  air  than  thou  — 

May  not  more  freely  sing. 
Born  'neath  the  happiest  sky  on  earth, 

What  homage  shonldst  thou  render 
To  Him,  who  with  such  holy  care 

"Watches  thy  years  so  tender. 

v 

And  now  in  youth,  in  early  youth, 
Indulge  not  freaks  of  folly, 

Lest  after  years  should  bring  to  thee 
Regret  and  melancholy: 


LINES.  105 


But  prize  thy  blessings,  prize  them  well, 
Oh  !  clasp  them  to  thy  heart; 

And  never,  never,  e'en  through  life, 
From  these  best  gifts  depart. 


MUSINGS. 

"  The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man, 

Had  never  sure  been  born, 
Had  there  not  been  some  recompense, 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn." — BUBNS. 

'T  WAS  by  a  flowing  river,  on  a  green  and   mossy  bed, 
I,  in  silent  sadness,  pondered,  and  reclined   my  weary 

head  ; 
My   thoughts   went  flowing,  flowing    like  a  wild  and 

rapid  stream, 
But  it  was  no  theme  of  fancy — no  sweet,  poetic  dream 

That  pressed  upon  my  spirit,  but  the  bitter  ills  of  life, 
With  which  this  world,  though  beautiful,  is  ever,  ever 

rife : 
'T  was  of  the  widowed  mother,  who  toils  both  day  and 

night, 
To  feed  her  orphan  children,  and  earn  her  widow's  mite. 


MUSINGS.  107 

.<•"  '"-..*         *c'"«fc'-' 

With  a  worn  and  weary  spirit,  with  a  sad  and  aching 

brow, 
To    the   bitter    ills    of   poverty  how  hardly  does    she 

bow! 
Oh!  cruel  are  the  heartless   ones,  who  could  the  poor 

oppress, 
Nor  ever  seek  to  aid  them,  amid  their  deep  distress. 


The    rich,  the   gay,  the   happy,  how  swiftly  do    they 

glide 
Adown  the  sunny  stream  of  life,  in  pleuteousness  and 

pride  ; 
They  seldom  think  upon  the  poor,  who  toil  from  year 

to  year, 
"With   heavy  grief  upon  their  hearts,  and   none   their 

tasks  to  cheer. 


No  bright  dreams  of  the  future,  no  sweet  dreams  of  the 

past, 

But  a  fund  of  bitter  memories,  their  spirits  overcast ; 
How  languidly  the  needle  is  plied  with  bitter  pain,— 
Comes  sickness,  direst  evil !  amid  the  meager  train. 


108  MUSINGS. 

:  •      * 

Oh !  many  are  the  sorrows  that  press  upon  the  poor : 
May  God,  who  watches  o'er  them,  give  them  strength 

but  to  endure; 
And  when  their  days  are  ended,  may  they  dwell  amid 

the  blest, 
And  hear  the  welcome  summons,  "Come,  ye  weary 

ones,  and  rest." 


V 


* 

THE  GIFT. 

;.J$AJ/L';'  -  '  '  11T  r<(T& 

You  ask  of  me  a  lock  of  hair : 

E'en  then  so  let  it  be, — 
A  fond  memento  of  my  love, 

A  gift,  dear  friend,  for  thee. 
s   '  ,  «a;rnyir£fr  . 

Others  may  seek  for  gaudy  toys, 

And  some  for  jewels  rare, 
But  as  a  pledge  of  friendship,  I 

Will  give  a  lock  of  hair. 

Wilt  thou  not  lay  it  with  thy  gifts 
Of  fond  friends  far  from  thee, 

And  prize  it  for  the  giver's  sake, 
Thy  absent  friend,  H.  T.  ? 


*jf  * 

'  %          * 

' 


SONG  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID. 

I  DWELL  in  the  mountains,  far  away 

From  the  busy  scenes  of  strife, 
Where  the  flowers  in  their  shadowy  beauty  lay, 

And  the  air  is  with  fragrance  rife; 
Where  the  ringdove  fills  the  groves  with  song, 

And  all  the  birds  of  spring 
Their  lovely  matin  notes  prolong, 

While  the  dew's  on  each  glittering  wing. 

A  lovely  and  sheltered  cot  is  mine, 
Closed  round  with  its  summer  screen 

Of  many  a  fair  and  clustering  vine, 
On  a  carpet  of  tufted  green: 


SONG     OF    THE     MOUNTAIN     MAID.  Ill 

My  father  and  mother  bless  me  oft, 

For  I  am  their  only  child; 
And  their  gentle  accents,  sweet  and  soft, 

Bring  joy  to  the  mountains  wild. 


10 


;  iliii  bur,  dtis  >d  ?slo-.  5tfoi  v/ek/  €i)(ir& 

">'•.     •••      '  .  ujJ 


jj  a 


THE  CONTRAST. 

"  Oh,  listen  in  mercy,  ye  sons  of  wealth, 

Basking  in  comfort,  and  glowing  with  health  ! 
Give  whate'er  ye  can  spare,  and  be  ye  sure, 
He  serveth  his  Master  who  aideth  the  poor." 

ELIZA  COOK. 

THE  night  was  cold,  and  drear,  and  shrill 
The  winds  blew  loud  o'er  heath  and  hill ; 
The  darkening  clouds  were  gathering  fast, 
And  strong  trees  bowed  'neath  the  sullen  blast; 
While  a  few  pale  stars  with  faint  ray  shone 
O'er  a  lowly  cot  and  a  stately  home. 

That  stately  home  was  a  palace  fair, 
And  comfort  and  light  and  warmth  were  there, 
And  young  feet  danced  with  footsteps  light, 
And  fair  forms  shone  in  the  clear  lamp-light ; 
No  fears  for  them  had  the  storm  without  — 
They  answered  it  oft  with  a  merry  shout. 


THE     CONTRAST.  113 

« 

But  a  different  place  was  the  humble  shed 
Where  the  widow  toiled  for  her  daily  bread: 
Lonely  she  sat  by  her  scant  fireside, 
And  with  weary  fingers  her  needle  plied ; 
While  the  feathery  snow  came  drifting  through, 
And  the  winds  more  loudlv  and  wildly  blew. 


With  quiet  step  to  the  cradle  she  crept, 

/ 
Where  her  youngest,  fairest  darling  slept,    (J 

And  o'er  it  bent  with  a  look  of  love, 
Like  a  parent  bird  o'er  a  nestled  dove. 
"  Sleep,  dearest,  sleep,"  she  murmured  low, 
In  the  broken  tones  of  grief  and  woe : 


"In  yon  castle  proud  there  are  feastings  fair, 
For  the  birth-night's  come  of  their  noble  heir, 
And  he  proudly  stands  in  his  manhood's  age, 
And  claims  broad  lands  for  his  heritage. 
I,  too,  had  a  son, — but  he's  gone  from  me, 
They  have  made  his  grave  'neath  the  churchyard 
tree. 


114  THE     CONTRAST. 

•pr. 

Oh !  little  ye  think,  ye  rich  and  great, 
As  ye  proudly  revel  in  halls  of  state, 
Of  the  lone  and  poor,  who  pine  and  die 
'Neath  the  chilling  blasts  of  a  winter  sky ! 
When  a  few  kind  words,  and  a  little  part 
Of  your  gold,  might  save  a  broken  heart. 


LINES  TO  A  BIRD. 

THOU  pretty,  little,  sparkling  bird  ! 

Why  dost  thou  come  so  near  ? 
Say,  dost  thou  see  me  quite  alone, 

And  come  my  heart  to  cheer  ? 

'T  is  true,  I  do  seem  quite  alone : 

But,  ah  !   it  is  not  so ; 
For  lofty  thoughts  are  in  my  heart, 

Nor  would  I  let  them  go, 

To  mingle  with  the  giddy  ones, 
Who  bow  at  fashion's  shrine ; 

For  they  the  diamonds  only  wear, 
While  I  secure  the  mine. 


116  TO   A   BIRD. 

Then,  as  they  gayly  float  along 
I'll  sing  this  song  for  thee; 

But,  oh  !  it  is  not  half  so  sweet 
As  thine  own  minstrelsy. 


/Vi  1' 
i'  -laoil  •»'«-:  -i «!<•    •;?<.'!!'>•    HO 


.    i 


THE  SKEPTIC'S  LAST  NIGHT. 

'TWAS  night,  the  midnight  hour: 
A  thousand  stars  lit  up  the  calm  blue  vault 
Of  heaven.     The  moon,  so  fitly  named 
The  Regent  of  the  sky,  sat  like  a  queen 
Amid  her  glittering  train,  shedding  her 
Silvery  rays  upon  a  stately  mansion, 
One  of  England's  proudest  homes.    Around  were 
Hoble  trees,  yea,  ragged  oaks,  that  bore  upon 
Their  brows  the  age  of  centuries  ;  broad  walks, 
Reflecting  back  a  thousand  rays  from  many 
Tinted  shells ;  sweet  flowers,  whose  gentle  breath 
Went  floating  out  like  incense  on  the  air; 
Bright  founts  and  lovely  streams  were  murmuring 
On,  like  strains  of  distant  music.     All,  all 
Was  hushed  ;   no  sound  disturbed  the  sleeping 


118  THE   SKEPTIC'S   LAST   NIGHT. 

Beauty  of  the  scene.     But  who  is  this,  that 

Comes  -with  pallid  cheek  and  feverish  brow. 

And  gazes  out  upon  the  midnight  sky, 

As  though  he  sought  to  read  his  destiny  ? 

Silent,  with  fylded  arms,  he  stood:  but  now 

He  speaks — "  Man's  race  is  short,  short  from  the  crad 

To  the  tomb ;  and  then  he  sleeps  forever. 

The  Grecian  sages  thought  not  thus,  —  but  they 

Were  'dreaming  bigots;'  —  The  Christian's  hope's  a: 

Idle  mockerv." 

fi$ ' : '  Jh-£l^S^~  ''A^L~£—J> 

"Presumptuous  man)  vain  dreamer 
Of  unholy  dreams !  away  with  such  a  creed !" 
Wildly  he  started  back,  more  pallid  grew 
His  brow ;  for,  lo !  beside  him  stood  a  female 
Form,  clad  in  the  cold  habiliments  of 
Death.     Then  Memory,  faithful  to  her  trust, 
Rushed  o'er  his  guilty  soul,  and  conjured 
Up  the  past. 

"Dim,  shadowy  Form!"  he  murmured — 
"  Pale  visitant  of  other  days !  what  dost 
Thou  here  ?     Say,  dost  thou  come  to  mock  me  with 
The  past,  or  warn  me  of  the  future  ?" 


THE   SKEPTIC'S   LAST   NIGHT.          119 

Again 

The  Specter  spoke — "  Proud  man  !  thy  days  are  num 
bered  : 

Ere  the  sun  shall  rise  and  set  and  rise  again, 
Thou  wilt  be  far  hence;  thy  disembodied 
Spirit  will  have  passed  into  the  presence  of  that  God 
Whom  thou,  with  impious  breath,  hast  dared  to 
Scorn.     Ah  !  we  shall  meet  again  at  that  dread 
Bar,  where  all  are  equal.     And  now,  farewell, 
Thou,  who  didst  whisper  in  mine  ear  words 
Poisonous  as  the  deadly  Upas  tree, 
Whose  very  shades  are  death ! — didst  rob  my  youth 
Of  innocence,  betray  my  too  confiding 
Love,  and  leave  me  in  a  world  so  dark,  that 
Not  one  ray  of  light  e'er  pierced  its  dreadful 
Gloom  ! — farewell !     But  ere  I  go,  the  spirit 
Of  an  erring  but  redeemed  mortal, 
Bids  me  tell  thee,  thou  mayst  yet  repent 
LA.nd  live." 

Slowly  the  dim  form  faded  from 
His  sight.     Silent  he  sought  his  lonely  couch, 
To  toss  all  night  in  restless  dreams. 
11 


120  THE   SKEPTIC'S   LAST   NIGHT. 

0 

Next  morn  he  sought  his  friends, 
And  with  a  mocking  lip,  that  ill  concealed 
The  heavy  weight  that  preyed  upon  his  soul : 
He  told  his  tale,  but  said  he  would  survive  the  tim 
That  day  his  voice  was  heard  amid  his  country's  hall 
Charming  a  thousand  hearts, 
By  its  rare  power  of  Eloquence. 


But,  lo !  't  was  night :  ^*.   A 
Again  he  stood  beside  the  casement ; 
Gazing  upon  the  lovely  scene  without. 

'.4M*r*&S 

Sudden  he  shrank  away,    /L  JV>^ 
As  if  it  was  too  fair  for  him  to  look  upon. 
Muttering  strange  words,  he  fixed  his  eye     fc-.-v^.  # 
Upon  the  dial  of  the  clock — 

And  when  the  hand  reached  twelve,  he  shrieked,— T . 
And  thus  the  Skeptic  died. 

' 


GEORGIANA. 


'  Death  found  strange  beauty  on  that  cherub  brow, 
And  dashed  it  out." — MBS.  SIGOUBNBT. 


THEY  laid  her  in  her  little  grave, 
With  flowers  upon  her  breast, — 

A  lovely  blossom  for  the  sky, 
So  fragile  yet  so  blest. 

•V 
In  shadowy  beauty  o'er  her  brow, 

The  lifelike  tresses  lay ; 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  as  closed  in  sleep- 
Death  scarce  had  dimmed  their  ray. 

We  grieved  to  lay  the  gentle  child 

Within  the  darkening  tomb, 
When  the  sweet  flowers  were  putting  forth 

Their  loveliness  and  bloom. 


122 


But,  ah!  it  was  a  selfish  grief: 
In  yon  bright  world  of  bliss, 

She  '11  never  know  the  bitter  care 
That  dims  our  path  in  this. 


IDA. 

DISTURB  not  her  slumbers,  but  let  her  sleep  on, 

In  her  beauty  and  innocence  there : 
The  world  was  too  dreary,  too  dark  and  too  cold ; 

She  too  lovely,  too  fragile  and  fair. 

The  soft  breath  of  summer  just  passed  o'er  her  brow, 

As  the  gentle  dew  kisses  the  flowers, 
"When  she  faded  away,  like  a  beautiful  dream, 

To  the  land  of  Elysian  bowers. 

Sad,  sad  is  the  heart  of  that  fond  mother,  now, 
Since  the  pet  of  her  household  is  gone, 

And  faded  away  the  sweet  hope  of  her  life, 
Which  a  halo  around  her  had  thrown. 


124:  IDA. 

Oh  !   why  put  our  trust  in  the  frail  things  of  earth, 
When  we  know  they  so  soon  must  decay ; 

Why  make  ourselves  idols,  and  cling  to  them  still, 
When  we  know  that  those  idols  are  clay! 


W 


THE  IRISH  EXILE'S  ADDRESS  TO  AMERICA, 

COLD  and  dreary  blew  the  night  winds, 

Sad,  oh  !   sad  this  heart  of  mine,  I ,.: 
When,  like  some  lone  pilgrim  weary, 

First  I  sought  these  shores  of  thine : 
Stars  and  stripes  were  proudly  floating, 

Freely  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
Which,  with  low  and  solemn  cadence, 

Sighed  amid  the  leafless  trees. 

Many  a  broad  and  shining  river, 

Like  fair  sheets  of  silver  lay; 
Snow-capped  hills  and  towering  mountains 

Glittered  'neath  the  moon's  soft  ray ; 


126  THE  IKISH  EXILE'S  ADDRESS  TO  AMERICA, 

Birds  had  sought  a  kindlier  climate 
'Neath  the  myrtle's  gentle  shade, 

Or  amid  the  orange  flowers, 
Their  little  nests  had  made. 


Home,  with  all  its  fond  endearments, 

"  Home,  sweet  home,''  was  far  away  ; 
Not  a  single  thought  had  cheered  me 

Through  that  live-long  winter's  day: 
Then  came  worn  and  weary  slumbers, 

Sadly  broken  through  the  night; 
But  I  woke  and  saw  thy  banners 

Proudly  floating  in  the  light. 

Then  I  murmured,  Erin !   Erin  ! 

Thou  bright  Emerald  of  the  sea, 
Fain  I'd  linger  always  near  thee, 

But,  alas !    thou  art  not  free ; 
Tyrant  hands  have  strongly  bound  thee, 

Fettered  power  and  might  and  will, 
Yet  thou  still  art  precious  to  me: 

"With  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  stil 


still." 


THE   IRISH    EXILE'S    ADDRESS   TO   AMERICA.    127 

But  beneath  these  stars  so  glorious, 

Far  from  kindred,  far  from  thee ; 
Though  all  other  ties  are  broken, 

Let  me  dwell  amid  the  free! 


THE  YOUNG  WIFE'S  SONG. 


I  LIST  for  thy  footsteps,  my  darling; 

I've  waited  and  watched  for  thee  long: 
The  dim  woods  have  heard  my  complainings, 

And  sorrow  has  saddened  my  song.  &  • 


The  last  rays  of  sunset  are  gilding 
The  hill-tops  with  purple  and  gold  ; 

And.  lo  !   in  yon  azure  dominion, 
Does  a  beautiful  rainbow  unfold. 

Like  the  hues  of  that  rainbow,  my  spirit 

All  fondly  is  blended  with  thine ; 
Then  how  canst  thou  linger  away,  love, 

When  thou  know'st  this  fond  spirit  will  pine? 


* . ./ 

THE     YOUNG     WIFE'S     SONG.  129 


The  game  and  the  chase  are  alluring, 

I  know,  my  bold  hunter,  for  thee ; 
But  when  borne  on  thy  swift  Arab  courser, 

Do  thy  thoughts  ever  wander  to  me  ? 

Or  e'er  to  the  home  of  my  childhood, 

The  beautiful  cot  far  away, 
Where  the  birds  sang  so  sweet,  in  their  gladness, 

And  I  was  as  happy  as  they? 

The  lone  willow  droops  in  its  sadness ; 

The  stern  oak  stands  sturdy  and  still ; 
But  a  loved  form  is  seen  in  the  distance, 

And  footsteps  are  heard  on  the  hill. 

"'Tis  he!    'tis  my  Ulric !   I  hear  him, 

I  see  him ;   O !  joy,  he  is  here ! " 
She  threw  back  her  curls  in  her  gladness, 

And  silently  brushed  off  a  tear. 

There  were  low  murmured   words   of  forgiveness  ; 

Fond  clasping  of  hands,  and  a  kiss. 
The  past !    ah !   the  past  is  forgotten. 

What  could  mar  such  a  moment  as  this! 


PRESENTIMENTS. 

rtX     1 
OH  !   why  this  utter  loneliness  of  heart  ! 

These  deep,  wild  throbbings,  and  these  tears  that  start  — 

This  heavy  sorrow  spurning  all  control, 

And  painful  thoughts  which  crowd  upon  the  soul  ? 

'" 


And  why  these  shadows,  which  around  me  gleam, 
Like  the  wild  phantoms  of  a  midnight  dream, 
With  words  half  spoken,  thoughts  but  half  expressed, 
Robbing  my  days  of  peace,  my  nights  of  rest  ? 


vt 

V 


ANNIE  ADAIR. 


"THERE'S  not  in  this  wide  world" 

A  maiden  more  fair 
Than  the  one  I  love  best, 

My  sweet  Annie  Adair ! 

Soft,  soft  are  her  tresses 

Of  fair  golden  hue, 
But  more  soft  are  her  bright  eyes 

Of  loveliest  blue. 

Her  form's  like  a  sylph, 

Her  step's  like  a  fawn, 
As  gayly  she  trips 

Over  meadow  and  lawn. 


132  ANNIE     AD  AIR. 

V    •*  * .- 

r  •  T 

The  violet  scarce  bends 
'Neath  her  delicate  tread, 

And  the  lily  just  bows  down 
Its  beautiful  head. 

There's  not  in  this  wide  world 
A  maiden  more  fair 

Than  the  one  I  love  best, 
My  sweet  Annie  Adair  I 

'***'  *   . 


LINES 

'  -  •  '  *•' 

ON  BEING  SHOWN  A  TRESS  OP  HAIR. 

INSCRIBED     TO  MBS.   A.    SMALLEY,   OF    KENTUCKY. 

THIS  little  tress  of  soft,  fair  hair, 
I've  kept  for  many  years, 

Embalmed  it  with  a  mother's  love, 
And  watered  it  with  tears. 

With  trembling  hand  1  severed  it 
From  off  a  brow  so  fair: — 

Alas!   of  all  so  beautiful, 
This  death  alone  could  spare 


134  THE     TRESS     OF    HAIR. 

••  ». 

0 

Unto  my  aching,  frenzied  sight ! 

Each  tear  I  would  repress : 
But  vain ;   for  woman's  grief  breaks  forth 

In  gushing  tenderness. 


A  fragile  plant  to  me  was  given ; 

I  nurtured  from  its  birth, 
And  watched  to  see  my  flower  expand  — 

It  blooms,  but  not  on  earth. 

I  found  it  was  not  given  to  me  — 

To  me  't  was  only  lent ; 
And  now,  with  heavenly  choirs  above, 

My  radiant  flower  is  blent. 

Be  still,  be  still,  each  murmuring  thought ; 

Dost  hear  that  music's  flow  ? 
More  sweetly  stealing  o'er  my  soul 

Than  touch  of  lute-chords  low. 

.  *  » 

It  is  my  darling's  voice  I  hear ; 

It  thrills  with  rapture  wild : 
Fain  would  I  break  these  bonds  of  clay, 
To  clasp  my/angel  child. 


THE     TRESS     OF     HAIK. 


135 


But  I  am  earthly,  earth's  dark  stain 

Is  on  my  spirit  still : 
Unmurmuringly  I  bow  my  head  — 

"My  Father,  'tis  thy  will." 


12 


LINES 

lap,  '..-..,-  * 

ACCOMPANYING  A  BOUQUET  OP  LILIES  AND  E08E8. 

"  In  eastern  lands  they  talk  in  flowers, 
In  garlands  they  tell  their  loves  and  cares." 

No  purer  offering  could  I  bring 

To  lay,  sweet  lady,  on  thy  shrine, 
Than  this  fair  gift  of  humble  flowers, 

This  simple,  floral  gift  of  mine. 

. 

An  emblem  of  thyself,  fair  girl, 

They  bloom  in  beauty  and  in  pride ! 

The  Rose,  though  queen  of  all  the  flowers, 
An  humbler  flower  will  ne'er  deride; 


THE     BOUQUET.  137 

But  ever  spreads  its  sheltering  leaves 
To  screen  the  Lily's  drooping  head : 

Be  this  thy  task,  O  gentle,  maid ! 
To  cheer  the  lone  whose  hopes  have  fled. 


THE  CAPTIVE  WARRIOR'S  LAMENT. 

"  My  limbs  are  bowed,  though  not  with  toil, 

But  rusted  with  a  vile  repose ; 
For  they  have  been  a  dungeon's  spoil, 
And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  those 
To  whom  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  banned  and  barred — forbidden  fare." 

BYRON  —  Prisoner  of  ChMon. 

AGAIN  the  morning  sun  returns, 

To  gild  the  Eastern  sky, 
Yet  still,  a  captive  lone  I  pine, 

A  captive  must  I  die ! 

«•••'.•  *  x 

Oh  !  shall  I  never  tread  again, 

With  step  and  spirit  free, 
The  hills  I  've  trod  a  thousand  times, 
In  days  of  boyhood's  glee  ? 


THE    CAPTIVE    WARRIOR'S     LAMENT.         139 

The  poorest  serf  can  idly  roam, 

And  none  will  ask  him  why; 
Whilst  I,  a  warrior  true  and  tried, 

A  helpless  captive  lie ! 

Oh  !  for  my  steed,  my  noble  steed, 

My  good  and  gallant  gray, 
To  bear  me  to  the  battle-field, 

Or  perish"  by  the  way  ! 

Methinks  it  is  a  glorious  death, 

In  freedom's  cause  to  die, 
While  shouts  of  victory  round  us  peal, 

And  foes  before  us  fly ; 


But  thus  to  linger  day  by  day, 
Amid  this  dungeon's  ^gloom, 

This  sepulcher  of  all  my  hopes, 
This  worse  than  living  tomb! 


What !  drops  of  weakness,  will  ye  come  ? 

No  shame  that  ye  should  start ; 
The  tear  that  stains  a  warrior's  cheek 

Is  from  a  patriot's  heart. 


THE  NEGLECTED  WIFE. 

"Is  it  him?  is  it  him?  —  do  I  hear  his  step?" 
And  with  trembling  haste  to  the  window  she  crept 
"No,  'twas  but  the  rustling  of  the  breeze 
'Mid  the  autumn  woods,  as  they  cast  their  leaves. 

"  I  have  waited  long,  I  have  looked  in  vain — 
O  God  !  will  he  never  return  again  ?" 
Long,  long  had  she  stood  by  the  casement  there, 
"With  her  settled  look  of  deep  despair ; 

Ever  her  cheek  would  flush  and  pale 
As  she  heard  the  rude  winds  of  the  early  gale : 
"He  is  gone!"  once  more  she  murmured  in  pain, 
"  He  is  gone,  and  I  dare  not  even   complain. 


THE     NEGLECTED    WIFE.  141 

» 

"  Just,  just  is  thy  sentence,  O  God !  and  I  bow 
With  a  broken  spirit  before  thee  now, 
Had  I  heeded  the  words  by  my  father  spoken, 
Or  a  mother's  prayer  ere  her  heart  had  broken  ; 


"  Not  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  a  brother  brave, 
Nor  slighted  the  warning  he  kindly  gave ; 
I  should  not  have  wept,  and  wept  in  vain, 
For  that  faithless  one  to  return  again." 


ur  fyfr. 

THE  MISSIONARIES. 

PART  FIRST. 

'T  WAS  evening :  all  was  calm  and  still ; 
No  sound,  save  the  lone  whippowil, 
Broke  on  the  stillness  of  that  hour, 
Within  that  gloomy  woodland  bower; 
Fair  Cynthia  shone  with  ray  serene 
O'er  hill  and  valley,  clothed  in  green ; 
And  hill  and  valley,  lake  and  wood, 
"Were  wrapped  in  deepest  solitude. 

The  stars  were,  round  their  nightly  queen, 
Arrayed  in  splendid  silvery  sheen, 
And  Nature  in  her  loveliest  mood, 
Seemed  holding  converse  with  the  good. 


THE     MISSIONARIES.  14:3 

/ 

It  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  night  ! 
The  wild  birds  all  had  winged  their  flight 
Home,  to  their  lofty  nests  on  high, 
Beneath  the  broad  and  azure  sky. 


hoow   ^nri^xuuy  «pt,b  «<wft  fern;  A 
The  Indian  in  his  wigwam  lay, 

Dreaming  the  unconscious  hours  away  ;        $f" 
And  all  was  hushed,  and  not  a  sound 
Disturbed  the  solemn  shades  around. 
But  hark  !  a  voice  breaks  on  the  ear, 
And  fills  the  heart  with  sudden  fear; 
And,  lo  !  beside  that  rock-bound  shore, 
Strange  forms  are  seen  ne'er  seen  before. 


Nisiv/  win  mwi  thi??,  sisiJ  oiL 
And  now,  with  mast  and  pennon  fair, 
A  stately  ship  was  standing  there, — 
Which,  on  that  waste  of  waters  wide, 
Before,  was  never  seen  to  glide. 
The  Indian;  startled  with  affright, 
Looked  out  upon  the  brow  of  night, 
And  quickly  springing  from  the  ground, 
Made  the  wild  woods  re-echo  round. 
13 


144  THE     MISSIONARIES. 

"Wake,  brother!  wake!  the  White  Man's  come 
To  drive  us  from  our  mountain  home ; 
And  soon,  with  fierce  and  bloody  hand, 
They  '11  force  us  from  our  own  loved  land !" 
He  boldly  spoke,  and  by  them  stood, 
Amid  that  deep  embowering  wood, 
With  folded  arms  and  haughty  head, 
Then  sternly  to  their  leader  said  — 

"What  brings  thee,  pale-faced  stranger!  here? 

To  hunt  with  us  the  bounding  deer  ? 

Or  dost  thou  think  by  cruel  art, 

We  from  our  hunting-grounds  will  part  ? 

Or  'neath  the  fir-tree  and  the  pine, 

Wilt  traffic  here  with  rum  and  wine?" 

The  stranger  quickly  gave  his  hand, 

And  thus  replied  in  accents  bland : — 

"  We  seek  not  to  oppress  the  brave, 
Or  drive  them  to  a  bloody  grave ; 
And  though  no  foot  of  land  is  ours, 
We  do  not  want  your  woodland  bowers ; 


THE     MISSIONARIES.  145 

The  fatal  wine  we  never  sip, 
Or  place  it  to  our  brother's  lip : 
No,  we  have  come  far  o'er  the  wave, 
To  tell  thee,  Jesus  died  to  save." 

"  We  for  his  sake  count  all  things  loss ; — 

Leave  home  and  country  for  the  cross; 

Yes,  gladly  bade  them  all  farewell, 

That  we  the  wondrous  tale  might  tell,^ 

Repeat  the  story  of  his  birth, 

His  love  to  fallen  sons  of  earth  — 

Tell  how  that  false  and  murderous  crew, 

With  vengeful  hands,  their  Master  slew — 


"  Of  Judas  speak,  that  erring  one, 
Who 's  justly  called  perdition's  son, 
Who,  with  his  false  and  flattering  breath, 
Betrayed  his  Master  unto  death. 
O  God  of  mercy !  grant  me  grace, 
To  teach  this  dark  benighted  race 
That  Jesus  lives  and  reigns  above, 
And  rules  in  majesty  and  love!" 


THE     MISSIONARIES. 


PART   SECOND. 

KIND  reader !  once  again  we  meet 
Each  other,  once  more  fondly  greet. 
It  is  not  now  at  gentle  even, 
While  stars  bedeck  the  vault  of  heaven, — 
No,  SoPs  bright  rays  have  reached  the  sky, 
And  morn's  first  smile  just  greets  the  eye ; 
A  winding  horn  is  loudly  heard, 
Kesounding  through  a  neighboring  wood. 

O   8ft0|pBflfl|i5    <"•;    '-•:"•'<{  £?$? 

And  now,  perhaps,  my  readers  ween 

I  would  describe  a  hunting  scene ! 

Not  mine,  to  tell  of  idle  sport, 

Or  chaste  Diana's  votaries  court, — 

In  solemn  truths  I  hope  to  deal, 

With  prayer  that  I  each  truth  may  feel — 

Oh,  may  each  word  that  I  impart 

Shed  hallowed  radiance  round  the  heart ! 


Now,  gentle  reader,  bend  thine  ear, 
For  angels  keep  their  vigils  here ; 


THE     MISSIONARIES.  147 

'•  **  J> 
*  tj** 

And  'mid  the  forest,  I  have  found 

A  spot  of  consecrated  ground. 

Now  stretch  thine  eye  o'er  yonder  plain, 

O'er  yonder  sloping  wide  domain, 

And  look  again,  upon  the  sod 

They  've  pitched  their  tents  to  worship  God. 

'  •'.  •  "';    njf 

"They!  whom?"  methinks  I  hear  you  say — 
They  who  came  o'er  the  watery  way  ?" 
No,  but  the  converts  God  has  given 
To  these  devoted  sons  of  heaven  ; 

Behold,  a  band  of  warriors  brave, 

'  '"'•  •  <  .'      ,'i-    :m  Mtv;  -     . 

All  stately,  dignified,  and  grave ; 
Slowly  they  wend  their  way  along, 
Chanting  aloud  a  solemn  song. 
List !  list !  and  you  their  lay  may  hear, 
As  they  approach  —  draw  near,  draw  near. 

"  Our  weapons  of  warfare  we  've  grounded, 

'Gainst  Jesus  no  longer  we  fight, 
But  join  now  in  deep  adoration 

To  our  Saviour  in  solemn  delight. 


148  THE    MISSIONARIES. 

"  Oh !  blest  be  the  day  when  the  White  Man 
First  sought  'mid  our  forests  to  roam, 

Forsaking  the  land  of  his  birthplace, 
And  leaving  his  own  cherished  home. 

"  In  ignorance  and  darkness  we  wandered, 
No  man  for  our  souls  seemed  to  care ; 

But  what  will  not  truth  oft  accomplish, 
Accompanied  by  teaching  and  prayer  ?" 


A  new  scene  now  awaits  our  view, 
A  scene  of  all  that 's  good  and  true : 
A  ring  was  formed,  where  on  the  ground 
Benches  and  chairs  were  strewn  around  ; 
A  table  in  the  center  stood, 
Roughly  formed  of  oaken  wood  ; 
The  minister  was  standing  there, 
Lost  in  deep  though tfulness  and  prayer. 

An  emblem  in  his  hand  he  bore, 
A  pledge  of  love,  which  ne'er  before 
Had  the  untutored  forest  child 
Beheld,  within  that  western  wild  ; 


THE    MISSIONARIES.  149 

•  .  f  •*••* 

And  now  he  took  the  bread,  and  brake, 
And  kindly  bade  the  Red  Man  take  — 
"  Memorial  of  his  love  for  thee ; 
Do  this,  He  said,  and  think  of  me." 

They  ate  the  bread,  and  drank  the  wine, 
And  thought  upon  that  glorious  Vine ; 
And  as  they  rose,  each  wood  and  glen 
Re-echoed  with  a  loud  "Amen!" 


r-%.  * 


I  WILL  HOPE. 

I  WILL  hope,  I  will  hope, 
Though  my  pathway  be  set 

With  the  darkest  of  sorrows, 
And  deepest  regret.    ^>^ 

ff      • 

I  will  hope,  I  will  hope, 

Though  youth's  visions  may  flee  ; 
I  '11  believe  there  is  something 
In  future  for  me. 

I  will   launch  my  frail  bark, 

I  will  breast  every  gale, 
Though  my  rudder  be  riven, 

And  shattered  my  sail. 


I    WILL     HOPE.  151 

Hope's  anchor  shall  guide  me, 

And  bring  me  aright, 
When  the  world's  fleeting  visions 

Shall  fade  from  my  sight. 


I  SHALL  THINK  OF  THEE. 

I  SHALL  think  of  thee  at  morning, 
When  the  birds  sing  loud  and  free, 

And  the  carol  of  their  pleasant  tones 
Will  mind  me  oft  of  thee. 

I  shall  think  of  thee  at  noontide, 

When  the  sun  shines  bright  and  high  — 

The  language  of  thy  gentle  voice, 
And  of  thy  soft,  dark  eye. 

1  shall  think  of  thee  at  spring-time, 
When  the  flowers  bud  and  bloom, 

And  shed  abroad  their  fragrance  rare. 
With  beauty  and  perfume. 


I     SHALL    THINK     OF    THEE.  153 

And  when  July's  hot,  sultry  sky 

Shall  mind  me  spring  is  past, 
I  '11  think,  like  thy  affection, 

'Twas  bright,  but  could  not  last. 


WELCOME  TO  KOSSUTH. 


"  Gearing  the  bells,  and  fire  the  guns, 
And  fling  the  starry  banner  out ; 

Shout, '  Freedom  !'  till  your  lisping  ones 
Give  back  their  cradle  shout."  —  WHITTIKB. 


WELCOME,  thou  noble  chief! 

Welcome,  thy  peril's  o'er! 
A  million  freemen  greet  thee   now, 

On  fair  Columbia's  shore. 

Welcome  to  Freedom's  land  ! 

Our  stars  and  stripes,  unfurled, 
Invite  thee  to  a  peaceful  home, 

Within  our  Western  World. 


WELCOME    TO    KOBSUfH.  155 

• 

Cut  light  the  billows,  thou  fair  ship  — 

A  precious  freight  is  thine  ; 
Thou  bearest  an  exiled  Patriot 

To  Freedom's  holy  shrine  ; 

Thou  bearest  a  warrior  from  afar, 

Freed  from  a  galling  chain, 
And  withered  be  the  arm  that  seeks1 

To  bind  the  brave  again. 

Children  of  Hungary !  thy  wrongs 

Awake  our  pitying  care  ; 
At  morn,  at  night,  at  noon,  at  eve, 

"We  breathe  for  thee  a  prayer, — 

That  thou  mayst  yet  be  free  indeed, 

Free  as  the  mountain  breeze 
That  plays  upon  our  own  broad  streams, 

And  murmurs  'mid  our  trees. 

May  Freedom's  watchword  yet  ring  out 

Amid  thy  hills  so  blue  ; 
And  thine  be  yet  the  happiest  home 

That  freemen  ever  knew. 


156  WELCOME    TO     KO88UTH. 

t 

Austria !   thy  dark,  despotic  power 

Is  resting  over  all ; 
But  false  ambition's  round  thee  thrown, 

And  sure  will  be  thy  fall. 

A  nation's  tears  are  on  thee  now, 
"Widows  and  orphans  weep, 

And  stern  men  in  their  souls  have  vowed 
Their  high  resolves  to  keep. 


i.A 


xuir) 


:«rt« 


/>Ybuiji!<]  0.5^ 

[As  I  sat  alone  by  my  chamber  window,  a  few  evenings  after  the 
death  of  a  beloved  friend,  a  beautiful  bird,  of  a  peculiar  kind, 
came  and  stood  on  my  "work-basket.  There  was  something  so 
plaintive  in  its  low,  melancholy  note,  it  touched  a  chord  of  sym 
pathy,  and  immediately  turning  over  the  leaves  of  my  Scrap-Book, 
I  inserted  the  following  lines.] 

soa'jf  I  iduill  "ifT 
BIRD    OF   THE    SUMMER. 

BRIGHT  bird  of  the  summer  ! 

From  whence  hast  thou  flown  ? 
Ah!  speak,  pretty  warbler,  — 

Art  left  all  alone? 

. 
.tfc» 

Have  thy  playmates  all  left  thee? 

Thy  companions  all  gone  ? 
Come,  then,  to  this  bosom  — 

I  too  am  alone  ! 


158  BIKD     OF     THE     8DMMEE. 

* 

Not  so,  in  the  proud  day  of  pomp  and  of  pride, 
All  courted  my  favor,  all  sought  the  gay  bride; 
But  now,  I  in  sadness  arn  left  here  to  mourn, 
And  grieve  for  the  joys  that  can  never  return. 

Then  stay,  pretty  warbler,  and  sing  me  a  song! 
Oh !  sing  me  a  requiem  for  joys  that  are  gone ! 
Thy  beautiful  notes,  though  so  plaintive  and  sad, 
Will  fall  on  mine  ear,  and  make  my  heart  glad. 


Thou  wilt  not!  thou  sayest? 

Then  unhurt  fly  away, 
O'er  mountain  and  stream,  — 

Thy  flight  I  '11  not  stay  : 

'  J    a  if  i  a 

But  my  hopes  shall  go  with  thee, 

And  wish  to  the  last, 

\mn  Q6Q8tt'#  moil 
Like  thee,  pretty  one, 

I  could  fly  from  the  past. 

Ifs  tiyf  -trA 


sf    vrf* 


Otfi 


mitfa    f */".; 

;  wjiti!  <»atofl9d  A 

faifil  Si  feib  f-j 


eeofoihig  &  'to  %nm#to  ^I 


,T«ob  bted  ovol  Jjai 
STANZAS   TO    . 


AH  !  proud  and  cold  's  thy  every  look, 
And  haughty  is  thy  smile  ; 

Yet  honeyed  words  are  on  thy  tongue, 
Placed  there  but  to  beguile 

My  woman's  weakness.     But  't  is  vain  ; 

This  heart  can  never  bend, 
Though  once  it  had  a  foolish  dream, 

With  thine,  proud  one,  to  blend. 

But  it  has  fled   from  out  my  heart, 

Ah  !  fled  into  the  past  ! 
And  visions,  false  as  they  were  vain, 

No  more  my  soul  o'ercast. 
14 


160  STANZAS     TO 


/ 

Thy  syren  voice  no  more  can  charm 

A  heart  so  fond  as  mine  ; 
Whose  greatest  grief  is  that  it  laid 

An  offering  on  thy  shrine  — 

The  offering  of  a  guileless  heart, 

Thy  falsehood  first  awoke! 
By  every  word  that  love  held  dear, 

To  me  in  kindness  spoke,— 

\ 
By  every  word  in  fondness  said,  — 

By  every  flattering  tone, 
With  which  you  sought  to  lure  my  heart, 
And  leave  it  then  alone,  — 

/ 
I  tell  thee,  that  I  scorn  thee  now, 

Far  more  than  words  can  speak  ; 
Thou  'It  read  it  in  my  flashing  eye, 
And  on  my  burning  cheek. 

Thou  'It  never  know  how  long  it  took 

To  break  the  fearful  chain; 
But  well  thou  knowest  'tis  not  for  thee 

To  bind  this  heart  again. 


STANZAS    TO 161 

• 

Methinks  it  was  a  poor,  mean  boast, 

That  thou  hadst  cast  a  spell 
Around  a  fond,  weak  girl,  who  "  loved, 

Not  wisely,  but  too  well."     ^4. 


UJIOTOIV  H 


.  <1  'f.  A.I  2  MI 


-    4*w 
y     /  s 


AN  APPEAL  TO  QUEEN  VICTORIA, 

IN  BEHALF  OP  THE   IRISH. 

WRITTEN    DURING     THE     LATE    FAMINE     IN     IRELAND. 

"  The  oats  were  blighted  on  the  stalk, — 

The  corn  before  its  bloom, — 
And  many  a  hand  that  held  the  plow 

Is  pulseless  in  the  tomb  ! 
There  is  no  playing  in  the  streets  — 

The  haggard  children  move 
Like  mournful  phantoms,  mute  and  slow, 

Uncheered  by  hope  or  love." — MKS.  SIGOTTKNET. 

OH!  take  the  bauble  from  thy  brow, — 
Yes,  lift  it  from  thy  head, — 

And  sell  those  costly  gems  of  thine, 
And  buy  thy  people  bread ! 


APPEAL    TO    QUEEN    VICTORIA.  163 

What!  does  indignant  shame  light  up 

That  queenlike  brow  of  thine  ? 
And  dost  thou  deem  an  insult  lurks 

In  every  written  line  ? 

Oh,  lady !  think  thee  of  the  tears 

Thy  starving  people  shed, 
As  their  pale  children  gather  round, 

And  beg  in  vain  for  bread. 

You  gaze  upon  your  princely  band 

4*/"CjC-H—  J      fi 

Of  children  in  their  pride,    x^^£   (Ur* 
As,  blest  with  every  luxury, 
Before  your  throne  they  glide; 

And  think  you  not  that  they  too  feel 

A  deep,  deep  love  for  theirs, 
Although  of  penury  and  want 

They  are  the  bitter  heirs  ? 

Yes,  many  an  Irish  mother,  now, 

Beholds  her  starving  child ! 
And  gazes  on  its  agony, 

Until  her  brain  grows  wild. 


164:  APPEAL    TO    QUEEN    VICTORIA. 

*      "» 

And  thou,  a  woman,  and  a  queen, 
Say,  canst  thou  hesitate 

To  save  thy  people  from  their  woe, 
Before  it  be  too  late? 

In  aiding  them,  thou  too  mayst  save 
Thy  valued  crown  to  thee; 

For  even  now  the  cry  is  heard, 
"Make  way  for  liberty!" 


* 

» 

a  I 


LINES 


ADDRESSED  TO  A  STRANGER  WHOM  I  MET  ON  THE  OARS. 


BY    BEQUEST. 


'Mro  careless  brows,  and  thoughtless  ones, 
And  some  't  were  full  of  care  ; 

Some  dark,  as  'neath  an  Indian  clime, 
Some  lovely,  young  and  fair; 

Some  bound  unto  a  happy  home, 
With  wife  and  children  dear  ; 

Others,  deep  bearing  in  their  hearts, 
The  record  of  despair  ; 


•a.  A 

166  TO    A    STRANGER. 


I  Doted  thee,  amid  the  crowd —     3 
With  them,  but  of  them  not ; 

Nor  time  nor  distance  can  efface, 

*•-  « 

Or  from  my  memory  blot. 

Thy  sable  robe,  thy  saddened  brow, 
Thy  sweet,  though  pensive,  smile, — 

Manners  of  winning  tenderness, 
That  spoke  thee  free  from  guile. 

»      Genius,  proud  genius,  sat  enthroned 

Upon  thy  woman's  brow ; 
I  have  thy  picture  in  my  mind, — 
I  'm  gazing  on  it  now. 

;  ^  There  is  a  sympathy  of  soul, 

That  draws  us  to  our  kind  ; 
'T  is  not  in  words,  or  looks,  or  deeds, 
'Tis  mind,  embracing  mind.  ^ 

A  deeper  sympathy  is  ours  ; 

For  sorrow's  saddening  sway 
Has  swept  across  our  pathways  both, 

With  many  a  chilling  ray. 


TO    A    STRANGER. 


Yet  still  a  tie  to  thee  remains; 

A  daughter  young  and  fair, 
Nestles,  as  with  an  angel's  wing, 

And  stays  thy  passage  here. 

*    '  "  * 

•". 

But  lonely  is  the  stranger's  heart, — 

And  lonely  must  she  be, 
Uncheered  by  all,  save  friendship's  smiles, 


And  these  she  asks  of  thee  I 

.  a  r  ,<  ,t  ij  y  tj  s)  A  o  fji" 


15 


j  . 


.:  ^'Qrffef'tasffi 


TO  A  COQUETTE. 


"  Oh,  why  did  you  weave  this  wild  spell  round  my  heart  f 
Why  give  me  those  hopes  that  so  soon  must  depart  ? 
Did  you  think,  that  like  others,  my  spirit  could  bend, 
And  be  in  a  moment  a  lover  or  friend  ?" 


I  WITH  the  rest  have  bowed  to  thee, 

With  all  a  lover's  pride, 
Have  gazed  upon  that  lovely  brow, 

And  worshiped  by  thy  side ; 

I  never  told  thee  half  my  love, 
My  tongue  could  not  reveal 

The  deep,  wild  passion  of  my  heart, — 
Such  as  thou  ne'er  couldst  feel, 


j» 


TTE. 


Cold-hearted  girl !  thou  'It  never  kuow 
How  deep  this  heart  was  wrung, — 
Or  how  thy  dark  ingratitude 


My  trusting  spirit  stung. 


-frfiihJ 


,» *-. 


LINES 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  E.  BROWN. 

LADY,  when  first  I  looked  on  thee, 

I  little  thought  so  soon 
That  I,  amid  a  weeping  train, 

Should  follow  to  thy  tomb, 
Far  from  the  home  that  gave  thee  birth, — 

Friends  that  would  bid  thee  stay, — 
Surrounded  by  a  stranger  band, 

Thy  spirit  passed  away. 

Though  strangers  stood  around  thy  bier, 

Full  many  a  tear  was  shed, 
That  one  so  young,  and  lovely  too, 

Must  sleep  among  the  dead. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  E.  BKOWN.    173 

* 


And  he,  the  husband  of  thy  heart, 
O'er  thy  low  death-couch  bent, 

While  sorrow,  far  too  deep  for  words, 
His  anguished  spirit  rent. 

But  ah  !  ye  cannot  call  her  back, — 

Dear  friends !  your  tears  are  vain  ; 
Her  eyes  are  closed,  nor  will  they  ope 

To  earth's  vain  things  again. 
But  though  on  earth  she  lives  no  more, 

In  heaven  she  liveth  ever, 
And  ye,  if  faithful,  soon  shall  meet, 

"Where  naught  fond  friends  can  sever. 


AN  INVOCATION. 


"  Thou  hast  all  too  much  unrest, 

Haunted  by  vain  hopes  and  fears  ;  " 
Though  thy  cheek  with  smiles  be  drest, 
Yet  that  cheek  is  wet  with  tears."  —  L.  *E.  L. 


BIND  me  not,  O  gentle  spirit  ! 

With  thy  silken  cords  so  soft; 
All  thy  charms  are  but  illusions, 

For  thou  hast  deceived  so  oft! 

Once  I  bowed  with  adoration 
At  a  fair  and  gentle  shrine,  — 

Loved  with  wild  impassioned  fondness, 
Dreaming  not  of  shame  or  crime. 


AN     INVOCATION.  173 

But  the  blissful  trance  soon  ended, 

Soon  I  from  my  dream  awoke, 
Like  the  strong  man  bound  in  fetters, 

Bending  'neath  a  heavy  yoke. 

Time  passed  on,  and  hope's  sweet  visions 
Clustered  once  more  round  my  home, 

Tempting  me  to  scenes  of  gladness, 
Bidding  me  from  grief  to  roam. 

Now,  exulting  in  my  freedom, 

Like  a  bird  of  fearless  wing, 
I  can  carol  in  my  gladness, 

Songs  before  I  could  not  sing. 

Then  bind  me  not,  O  gentle  spirit ! 

In  thy  silken  chains  so  sweet, — 
They  may  do  for  happier  spirits, 

But  for  mine  they  're  all  unmeet. 


AWAKE,  AWAKE,  MY  GENTLE  MUSE. 

AWAKE,  awake,  my  gentle  Muse! 

Awake,  awake  and  sing;    ^/   Q&^$~ 
The  purest  tributes  of  thy  verse, 

I  call  on  thee  to  bring.     &Lj) 
I  ask  not  gems,  nor  jewels  rare, 

.Nor  diamonds  flashing  bright: 
A  purer,  holier  gift  be  mine  — 

The  mind's  calm,  steadfast  light.   - 

O  Lord,  I  seek  to  have  each  thought 

Supremely  stayed  on  Thee  ; 
Surely  Thou  canst  the  gift  impart, 

And  make  my  spirit  free  — 
Free  from  the  vain  alluring  things, 

That  bow  the  spirit  down : 
Strange!  that  such  trifles  please  the  sight, 

Heir  of  a  glorious  crown ! 


WITHERED  VIOLETS. 


"  Violets  !  deep-blue  violets ! 
April's  loveliest  coronets  ! 
There  are  no  flowers  grow  in  the  vale, 
Kissed  by  the  dew,  waved  by  the  gale  — 
None  by  the  dew  of  the  twilight  wet, 
So  sweet  as  the  deep-blue  violet." — L.  E.  L. 


OH,  give  me  back  those  faded  flowers ! 

For  dearly  do  I  prize 
Those  little  violets,  which  look  up 

With  blue  and  starry  eyes. 
Oh,  give  them  back,  nor  deem  me  weak, 

That  I  should  ask  of  thee 
The  flowers  which  I  so  long  have  kept — 

His  last,  last  gift  to  me. 


176  WITHERED    VIOLETS. 

tf 

We  stood  beside  a  silvery  stream, 

The  waters  running  clear, 
My  heart  all  full  of  bitter  grief, 

And  in  mine  eye  a  tear. 
'T  was  then  he  culled  those  lovely  flowers, 

So  fragile  yet  so  sweet, 
And  bade  me  keep  them  for  his  sake 

Till  we  again  should  meet. 

In  mirrored  beauty,  still  that  stream 

Goes  sweetly  murmuring  on, 
Yet  all  those  flowers  have  faded  quite, 

Ah,  perished  one  by  one  ; 
And  still  the  giver  lingers  still 

Upon  the  stormy  main, 
While  I  sit  by  our  silent  hearth, 

And  wish  him  back  again. 

He  said  th:it  1  must  happy  be, 

When  he  was  far  away ; 
But  who  can  cheer  my  lonely  heart, 

Or  bid  the  tear-drops  stay  ? 


WITHERED    VIOLETS.  177 

None,  none! — until  he  comes  again 

From  off  the  stormy  sea, 
With  treasured  sadness,  I  will  keep 
His  last,  last  gift  to  me. 


RELIGION. 

RELIGION!  pure  and  heavenly  guest, 
Possessed  of  thee,  I  feel  I  'm  blest ! 
Though  every  other  hope  depart, 
Still  may  I  clasp  thee  to  my  heart. 

When  sickness,  sorrow,  pain,  or  dread, 
Had  gathered  thickly  o'er  my  head, 
Ye  bade  the  waves  of  sorrow  cease, 
And  pointed  to  the  paths  of  peace. 

When  hopes  that  o'er  my  spirit  threw 
A  radiant  light,  like  evening  dew, 
Had  faded  from  the  earth  away, 
Swift  as  a  meteor's  passing  ray, — 


RELIGION.  179 

One  angel  form  still  lingered  near, 
With  joy  my  wounded  heart  to  cheer, — 
One  angel  friend  in  mercy  came, — 
Religion  was  her  heavenly  name. 

Then  never,  never,  may  I  stray 
From  this  dear,  safe,  and  pleasant  way ! 
But  e'en  in  death  its  Author  bless, 
And  sink  to  sleep  in  happiness! 

9uT  *  W         .,   hj(J, 


[My  mother  and  step-mother  sleep  side  by  side  in  the  village 
church-yard  of  my  native  home.] 


HALLOWED  GROUND. 

SISTER  !  this  is  a  hallowed  spot : 

Here  lowly  bend  with  me, 
Above  their  graves,  where  side  by  side 

They  sleep  so  peacefully. 

Memorials  of  departed  worth 

It  has  been  mine  to  bring, 
And  lay  upon  a  shrine  of  tears  — 

A  poet's  offering. 


HALLOWED     GROUND.  181 

•«._ 

But  now,  a  holier  task  is  mine; 

A  daughter's  heart  would  pay 
This  grateful  tribute,  while  she  weaves 

A  short  and  simple  lay. 

I  was  too  young  to  know  my  loss, 

When  rny  own  mother  died  ; 
But  well  I  learned  to  prize  the  worth 

Of  this  one  by  her  side. 

.HtflW   A 
Sister  !  do  you  remember,  dear, 

The  last  sad  hour  we  kept 
Our  nightly  vigils  round  her  bed,  T, 

And  watched  while  othera  slept  3 

Yes,  —  though  to  distant  lands  you  go, 

To  many  a  distant  spot,  — 
I  know  the  memory  of  that  hour 

Will  never  be  forgot.   / 

••••'•;••  '1  I'!' 

'  '\  2?  t     '    A      fP 

But  as  the  ancients  would  embalm 
Their  friends,  when  life  has  fled, 

So  we  will  bear  within  our  hearts 
The  memory  of  the  dead. 


-jiii  y&rjcf  ,«.,*  Iwraa&j  1  Hs 

A  WISH. 

IP  I  should  ask  a  gift  for  thee  — 
'T  would  be  a  guileless  heart, 

All  full  of  tender  sympathy, 
And  free  from  every  art. 


And  then  I'd  ask  another  heart 

With  thine  to  fondly  blend, 
That  thou  mightst  hold  in  converse  sweet, 

And  be  to  thee  a  friend. 


STANZAS. 


But  ties  around  this  heart  were  spun, 
That  could  not,  would  not,  be  undone." 


OH!  it  is  but  a  little  while 
Since  thou  and  I  first  met, 

And  yet  thy  image  on  my  soul 
Is  deeply,  firmly  set. 

'T  is  but  a  little  while  since  thou 

Wert  all  unknown  to  me, 
And  now  thou  art  the  guiding  star 

That  rules  my  destiny. 
16 


184  STANZAS. 

i     - 

I  knew  it  —  felt  it  —  ere  I  stood 
One  moment  by  thy  side ; 

And  with  rebuking  sternness  sought 
The  feeling  back  to  chide. 

But  vain  —  it  gathered  o'er  my  heart, 
Like  waters  o'er  the  deep ; 

A  feeling  in  my  soul  was  roused 
That  would  not,  could  not,  sleep. 

I  stood  amid  the  young,  the  proud, 
The  gallant  and  the  gay, 

With  not  a  thought  for  those  around, 
And  not  a  word  to  say. 

I  looked  in  those  dark  eyes  of  thine, 
With  strange  and  timid  fear, 

And  turned  away  with  pallid  cheek 
And  scarcely  hidden  tear ; 

For,  though  tjby  voice  was  ever  kind 
As  friendship's  voice  could  be, 

Others  had  shared  those  gentle  tones, 
Breathed  not  alone  for  me. 


STANZAS.  185 


1  think  of  thee  at  early  morn, 
And  dream  of  thee  at  night, — 

A  day-star  set  within  my  soul, 
For  ever  pure  and  bright. 

All  other  hopes  may  fade  away,— 
Life's  earliest  dreams  depart, — 

But  thou  are  graved  on  memory, 
Enshrined  within  my  heart. 


TO  MY  LITTLE  NIECE. 

THOU  art  sporting  amid  the  flowers,  sweet  child, 

And  a  lovely  flower  art  thou ; 
The  rose  is  budding  upon  thy  cheek, 

And  the  lily  upon  thy  brow. 

• 

Thine  eyes  are  as  dark  as  the  bright  gazelle's, 

But  of  just  as  soft  a  hue 
As  the  violet  when  it  folds  its  leaves, 

'Neath  the  starlight  and  the  dew. 

Thou  art  sporting  on,  in  thy  guilelessness, 

That  free  and  joyous  thing  — 
A  happy  child,  ere  the  cares  of  earth 

A  shade  o'er  thy  brow  can  fling. 


TO     MY     LITTLE     NIECE.  187 

r 

k 

Long,  long  mayst  thou  be  a  child  at  heart, 

As  gladsome  and  as  free 
As  now  thou  art,  my  little  niece, 

• 

In  the  days  of  thy  childhood's  glee ! 


APOSTROPHE  TO  MY  HUSBAND. 


SLEEP  on,  mine  own  beloved  one,  /  (r^t/J- 

•*C  V    *    • 

In  thy  far  distant  tomb  ! 
Though  sorrow  shadows  o'er  each  heart 
That  mourns  thine  early  doom. 

Slep  on  —  I  would  not  call  thee  back 

To  the  cold  cares  of  life  ; 
Sleep  on,  unmindful  of  the  tears 

Of  her  thou  once  called  wife. 

Sleep  on  —  I  would  not  have  thee  know 

The  fate  of  one  so  loved, 
'T  would  grieve  thy  proud  and  generous  heart, 

Though  in  the  realms  above. 


APOSTROPHE  TO  MY  HUSBAND.      189 

s 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on  —  I  try  to  check 

Each  murmur  of  the  heart ; 
But  yet 't  was  hard,  mine  own  beloved, 

'Twas  hard  from  thee  to  part. 

'Twas  hard  to  bid  a  long  adieu 

To  one  we  loved  so  well, — 
Ah,  hard  to  say  that  bitter  word, 

That  bitter  word,  "  farewell !" 

~&       r   -*f 

**'      At       'Sir* 

The  anguish  of  that  parting  hour 

Is  on  my  spirit  now ; 
It  sends  deep  sorrow  to  my  heart, 

A  shadow  to  my  brow. 

And  yet  I  would  not  call  thee  back 

To  the  cold  cares  of  life, — 
Sleep  on,  unmindful  of  the  tears 

Of  her  thou  once  called  wife. 


LOVE. 

1    -JUOjf  mr1"    '  J     '-  '• 
O  LOVE  !  how  beautiful  thou  art ! 

How  pure  and  bright  a  gem, 
Enshrined  in  woman's  trusting  heart, 
A  peerless  diadem. 

Then  choose,  my  friend,  one  generous  heart, 

Congenial  to  thine  own, — 
Forsake  all  others  for  her  sake, — 

Make  there  thine  altar-throne. 

Let  other  forms  be  young  and  fair, — 

Let  other  eyes  be  bright, — 
Turn  thou  to  thine  own  chosen  one, 

With  fond  and  pure  delight. 


LOVE.  191 

Friendship,  with  love,  would  weave  for  thee 

A  garland  rich  and  rare, 
And  in  a  heart  of  prayerfulness 

"Would  fondly  breathe  a  prayer, 

c    That  sorrow  ne'er  may  cross  thy  path, 

Or  make  thy  young  heart  sad  ; 
May  all  thy  hopes  be  joyousness, 


Thy  spirit  ever  glad. 
* 


17 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

?.  '"  •« .  -Vv«*  .-* 

I  FEAK  me  thou  hast  prized  too  high 

This  simple  muse  of  mine, 
Yet  proud,  dear  lady,  will  I  be 
This  humble  wreath  to  twine. 

Poetic  flowers  are  round  me  now, 
Fair  as  the  buds  of  spring, 

With  eager  hand  I'd  cull  them  all  — 
For  thee  an  offering. 

But,  ah !  they  're  mocking  to  my  sight, 
I  clasp  them,  and  they're  gone, — 

Of  all  that  proud  and  rich  array 
There  now  remains  but  one. 


TO     A     FRIEND.  193 

One  lovely,  fair,  and  fragile  flower, 

Still  lingers  in  my  sight, 
Filling  my  soul  with  purest  joy, 

Shrouding  the  gloom  of  night, — 

'T  is  friendship :  dear  and  sacred  pledge  ! 

I  bind  thee  on  my  heart ; 
None  other  e'er  shall  know  thy  place, 

None  other  share  a  part. 

Thou  hadst  a  fickle  sister,  once; 

Within  my  heart  a  throne 
Was  made  for  her, — I  fondly  dreamed 

That  she  was  all  mine  own. 

All  eloquent,  she  lingered  there 

But  for  a  little  while, 
Then  to  herself  took  wings  and  fled 

.Unto  a  far-off  isle. 


LITTLE  WILLIE. 

r(&-£v£t.     'ft'}; •->-,.,/(    ''     •-    "-L     ^'Vr1  *  £•'    , 

ATTEND,  gentle  children,  to  you  I  will  tell 
The  story  of  one  whom  you  knew  and  loved  well ; 
'T  is  not  long  since  his  voice  'mid  the  gayest  was  heard, 
Warbling  forth  gentle  strains  like  some  sweet  forest  bird. 

But  that  soft  voice  is  hushed,  and  that  bright  eye  of  blue 
Has  closed  on  the  things  all  so  dark  and  untrue, 
On  the  waves  of  the  world  he  will  never  be  tossed, 
Then  why  should  you  weep  for  the  loved  and  the  lost  ? 

Then  list,  O  ye  parents!  say,  can  you  not  hear 
The  voice  of  your  loved  one,  in  strains  soft  and  clear  ? 
Even  now  he  is  singing  his  sweet  lay  of  love, 
With  the  saints  and  the  angels  in  triumph  above. 


LITTLE    WILLIE.  195 

'Tis  thus,  ever  thus,  earthly  hopes  must  decay  — 
The  fairest  of  flowers  the  first  fade  away, 
The  friends  we  love  best  will  the  soonest  depart, 
Though  their  memory  is  written  with  tears  on  our  heart. 

I  could  weep  when  I  think  of  those  joys  that  are  past, 
I  could  weep  when  I  think  that  those  joys  could  not  last, 
But  hope  sends  a  vision  that's  gentle  and  fair, 
And  bids  me  look  upward  and  cease  to  despair. 

It  speaks  of  that  radiant  city  above, 

Where  friends  dwell  forever  in  concord  and  love ; 

No  sickness,  no  sighing,  no  tears  dim  the  eye, 

In  our  Father's  blest  mansions  prepared  up  on  high. 


COUNTRY  LIFE. 


QUIET,  little,  shaded  spot, 

Far  from  the  busy  town, — 
I  rise  at  morn,  gay  as  the  lark, 

In  peace  at  night  lay  down. 
My  children  prattle  by  my  side, 

Their  father  makes  the  hay, 
Oh  1  who  could  be  more  blithe  than  UB, 

More  happy  all  the  day  ? 

V 

I  make  my  garden,  tend  my  flowers, 

And  watch  the  busy  bee ; 
And  sometimes  rove  amid  the  woods 

With  footsteps  light  and  free  ; 


COUNTRY     LIFE. 

+ 

9 

And  oft  my  children  weave  themselves 

Bright  garlands  for  their  hair  — 
J  doubt  if  city  dames  e'er  find 

Aught  in  their  shops  so  fair ! 
The  children  of  content  are  we, 

Oh!  could  the  proud  ones  know 
What  peaceful  joys  belong  to  those 

Who  nature  only  know! 


I  LOVED  HIM. 

r       "•* 

I  LOVED  him,  but  I  would  not  own 

The  deep,  fond  love  I  felt,— 
Though  sorrow  dwelt  upon  his  brow, 

When  by  my  side  he  knelt. 

j      j 

I  loved  him,  but  I  deeply  vowed 
I  would  not  wed  again  ;      /^Vj-e^-i 

And  though  his  fond  words  touched  my  heart, 
They  touched  it  all  in  vain. 

He  brought  me  flowers,  the  fairest  flowers, 

To  twine  amid  my  hair ; 
He  said  those  flowers  would  well  become 
The  brow  of  one  so  fair. 


I     LOVED     HIM.  199 

•# 

But  oh  !  I  spurned  the  gentle  gift, 

And  bade  him  turn  aside, 
And  seek  a  fairer,  happier  one 

To  be  his  chosen  bride.     ^, 

/ 
For  I  could  only  give  to  him 

A  sad  and  sorrowing  heart ; 
And  when  he  'd  ask  for  smiles  from  me, 
Tears  would  unbidden  start. 


THE  LONELY  GRAVE. 

THERE  is  a  grave,  a  lonely  grave, 

Deep  in  a  woodland  glade; 
No  friendly  hand  has  placed  it  there,  — 

^" 

By  strangers  was  it  made. 


And  yet  it  is  a  lovely  spot,  — 

The  wild  flowers  sweetly  bloom, 
And  shed  abroad  their  fragrance  rare, 

With  beauty  and  perfume. 
And  I  am  told,  at  evening  hour, 

The  village  maidens  come 
And  cull  those  lovely  woodland  flowers, 

And  deck  the  stranger's  tomb. 


THE    LONELY    GRAVE.  201 

/  . 

0  Gratitude !  thou  hallowed  guest ! 
Thrice  welcome  to  iny  heart! 

1  hail  thee  as  a  precious  gift, 
Nor  from  thee  will  I  part 

Till  I  have  poured  my  spirit  forth, 

O  maidens  !  unto  thee, 
In  grateful  strains  for  kindness  shown 

To  one  so  dear  to  me. 


LINES 

ON  RECEIVING  A  NUMBER  OP  THE  REPOSITORY. 

THOU  com'st  to  me,  bright  messenger, 
With  many  garlands,  wrought 

Of  all  the  fairest,  purest  things 
Of  intellect  and  thought. 

Within  thy  modest  pages, 

Thou  truly  dost  inclose 
The  lily'e  sweet  humility, 

With  the  beauty  of  the  rose. 

Thy  prose  is  high  and  holy ; 

To  "thy  verse  it  doth  belong, 
In  sweet  and  solemn  cadence, 

To  bear  the  soul  in  song. 


THE    REPOSITORY.  203 

Thine  is  a  noble  office, — 

To  elevate  the  mind, 
And  lift  the  drooping  spirit, 

From  the  -dross  of  earth  refined. 

Then  welcome !  ever  welcome 

-4 

To  my  heart  and  to  my  home, 
With  such  a  gentle  monitor 

I  surely  can  not  roam 

.  ?3  /r  JL  YT  \'\i  i    fi  in  j  i  vJ  ik 

From  the  paths  of  truth  and  virtue, 

Which  thou  dost  sweetly  blend; 
Then  come,  and  I  will  hail  thee 

As  an  old  familiar  friend. 

And  when  my  mind  is  sorrowful, 

With  bitter  thoughts  oppressed, 
I'll  turn  thy  pages  o'er,  and  read 

The  "  Gatherings  of  the  West." 


AUTUMN  FLOWERS. 

PALE  autumn  flowers!  I  love  ye  well, 
Though  a  tale  of  sadness  ye  bring ; 

Yes,  dearer  to  me  are  these  autumn  flowers 
Than  the  first  fair  buds  of  spring. 

I  love  ye !  for  ye  are  the  last 

That  blooms  'neath  a  northern  sky, — 

The  last  that  adorns  the  grave  of  one, 
Who  was  early  doomed  to  die. 


REMORSE. 

AWAY  !  I  will  not  hear  of  hope  ! 

Oh,  mock  me  not  with  bliss! 
Nor  speak  of  future  joys  to  me ! 

Such  agony  as  this. 
Was  born  not  for  a  single  hour, 

To  live  but  for  a  day ; 
For  life,  ah !  life  is  all  too  short 

Such  penance  sad  to  pay. 

Some  sorrows  bear  upon  the  heart 

But  for  a  little  while, 
Then  pass  away,  like  April  showers 

Before  the  sun's  glad  smile. 


206  KEMOK8E. 

But  no  such  sorrow  do  I  bear 
Within  this  wounded  breast ; 

Heavy  with  grief,  dim  with  despair, 
My  spirit  finds  no  rest. 

A  father's  curse  is  on  my  soul  — 

A  mother's  broken  heart  — 
*»'/-    . 

A  sister's  cheek  is  flushed  with  shame, 

And  tears  of  anguish  start. 
Then  tell  me  not  of  happiness, 

Until  this  weary  head 
Shall  lay  its  sorrow  and  its  shame 

Beside  the  mouldering  dead ! 


A 
•% 

Hr 


HOME. 

HOME  1  dearest  home !  I  love  thee  well, 
I  love  thee  more  than  words  can  tell ; 
There  is  no  spot  to  me  on  earth 
So  dear,  as  that  which  gave  me  birth  ; 
There  are  no  friends  so  dear  to  me, 
As  those  who  tell  me  most  of  thee. 

Oh,  could  I  leave  my  much  loved  home, 
O'er  this  unfriendly  world  to  roam? 
Say,  could  I  bid  a  long  adieu 
To  friends  so  loved  and  honored  too? 
There  are  some  things  for  which  1  'd  dare 
To  leave  my  own  loved  bower  of  prayer  — 
Things  which  so  fill  my  trusting  heart, 
That  tears,  repenting  tears,  will  start. 
IS 


208  HOME. 

Saviour !  dear  Saviour !  for  thy  sake 
I  would  the  ties  of  kindred  break, — 
Gaze  my  last  look  on  this  loved  shore, 
And  part  with  friends,  to  meet  no  more 
Shall  I  assist  to  raise  on  high 
A  standard,  'neath  a  burning  sky  ? 
Or  'mid  the  western  forests  rove, 
An  outcast  far  from  all  I  love  ? 

Gladly,  if  I  a  soul  might  save ;  — 
Though  I  should  meet  an  early  grave 

Where  the  rude  Kocky  Mountains  rise  . 

« 

In  gloomy  grandeur  to  the  skies, 
And  the  Pacific's  rock-bound  shore 
IB  washed  with  never  ceasing  roar; 
Where  the  untutored  savage  yell 
Is  heard,  but  ne'er  the  Sabbath  bell. 


EDITH  TO  MORTON. 


"  Had  he  died,  I  would  have  lamented  him  ;  had  he  proved  false,  I  would 
have  forgiven  him :  hut  a  traitor  to  his  country,  I  will  tear  him  from  my 
heart !"  —  OLD  MOBTALITT. 


IF  them  hadst  died,  I  would  have  wept 
With  sorrow  o'er  thy  tomb, 

And  sought  the  fairest  flowers  of  earth, 
To  shed  their  early  bloom 

Around  thy  lowly  resting-place ; 

I  would  have  wept  with  tears,— 
And  pain,  and  sorrow,  grief,  and  care, 

Had  made  up  all  my  years. 


'*.  '•     •  ."  * 

'    **   •»  •  '  • " 

210  EDITH     TO     MOKTON. 

:"•'  v-*v:      %»V^ 

Nay,  hadst  thou  e'en  proved  false  to  me, 
^V    "n  I  would  have  loved  thee -on, 

And  thought  of  all  thy  tenderness 

In  days  't  were  past  and  gone.       "«5* 
I 

But  recreant  to  thy  dearest  trust, 

,  A  traitor  to  thy  king !  — 
I  shame  me  that  an  act  of  thine, 
Could  tears  of  sorrow  bring 

From  out  the  heart  that 's  deeply  vowed 

Thy  image  to  forget, 
Though  every  fiber  of  the  soul 

Be  strung  with  deep  regret. 

Then  seek  not,  traitor!  dare  not  seek 

An  interview  with  me  ; 
Indignant  shame  would  flush  my  cheek 

If  I  should  look  on  thee ! 


»      % 


I'M  WITH  YOU,  DEAR  SISTERS. 

I  'M  with  you,  dear  sisters ! 

I  'm  with  you  once  more ; 
Kind  greetings  await  me, 

Fond  friends  at  the  door.    —  .-.. ,, 

All  hasten  to  meet  me, 

And  welcome  me  home ; 
Ohj  why  from  such  friends 

Should  my  footsteps  e'er  roam? 

I  have  not  been  long,  dearest  sisters,  away, 
But  sad  was  my  heart,  though  brief  was  my  stay; 
So  kind  and  so  gentle,  so  loving  and  true, 
In  joy  and  in  sadness,  I  'm  ever  with  you. 


212  I'M    WITH    YOU,    DEAR    SISTERS. 


But  thou,  dearest  brother,  the  loved  one  of  all, 
I  fancy  thy  footsteps  in  parlor  and  tall, — 
Thy  voice  rings  out  gladly,  and  falls  on  mine  ear; 
I  know  't  is  but  fancy,  I  feel  thou  'rt  not  here. 

SI, 

>/:'//?    /£ 


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